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A Tale of Truth.
"Are you for a walk? " said Montra-
ville to his companion, as they arose
from table; " are you for a walk, or shall
Ave order a chaise and proceed to Ports-
mouth?" Belcour preferred the form-
er; and they sauntered out to view the
town and to make remarks on the in-
habitants as they returned from church.
Montraville was a lieutenant in the
army; Belcour was his brother officer;
they had been to take leave of their
friends previous to their departure for
America, and were now returning to
Portsmouth, where the troops waited or-
ders for embarkation. They had stopped
at Chicester to dine; and knowing they
had sufficient time to reach the place of
destination before dark, and vet allow
them a walk, had resolved, it being Sun-
day afternoon, to take a survey of the
Chichester ladies as they returned from
They had gratified their curiosity, and
were preparing to return to the inn with-
out honoring any of the belles with par-
ticular attention, when Madame Du
Pont, at the head of her school, descend-
ed from the church. Such an assem-
blage of youth and innocence naturally
attracted the young soldiers; they
stopped; and as the little cavalcade
passed almost involuntarily pulled off
their hats. A tall, elegant girl looked
at Montraville and blushed; he instantly
recollected the features of Charlotte
Temple, whom he had once seen and
danced with at a ball at Portsmouth. At
the time he thought her a very lovely
child, she being then only thirteen; but
the improvement two years had made in
her person, and the blush of recollection
which suffused her cheeks as she passed,
awakened in his bosom new and pleas-
ing ideas. Vanity led him to think that
pleasure at again beholding him might
have occasioned the emotion he had wit-
nessed; and the same vanity led him to
wish to see her again.
" She is the sweetest girl in the
world," said he, as he entered the inn.
Belcour started. " Did you not notice
her?" continued Montraville. "She
had on a blue bonnet, and with a pair of
lovely eyes of the same color, has con-
trived to make me feel devilish odd
about the heart."
"Pooh!" said Belcour; "a musket-
ball from our friends, the Americans,
may, in less than two months make you
u I never think of the future," replied
Montraville, " but am determined to
make the most of the present, and would
willingly compound with any kind Fa-
miliar who would inform me who the
girl is and how I might be likely to ob-
tain an interview."
But no kind Familiar at that time ap-
peared, and the chaise which they had
ordered driving up to the door, Montra-
ville and his companion were obliged to
take leave of Chichester and its fair in-
habitant and proceed on their journey.
But Charlotte had made too great an
impression on his mind to be easily erad-
icated ; having, therefore, spent three
whole days in thinking of her, and en-
deavoring to form some plan of seeing
her, he determined to set off for Chi-
chester, and trust to chance either to
favor or frustrate his designs. Arriv-
ing at the verge of the town, he dis-
mounted, and sending the servant for-
ward with the horses proceeded toward
the place, where, in the midst of an ex-
tensive pleasure-ground, stood the man-
sion which contained the lovely Char-
lotte Temple. Montraville leaned on a
broken gate and looked earnestly at the
house. The wall which surrounded it
was high, and perhaps the Arguses who
guarded the Hesperian fruit within were
more watchful than those famed of old.
" 'Tis a romantic attempt," said he;
u and should I even succeed in seeing
and conversing with her, it can be pro-
ductive of no good. I must of necessity
leave England in a few days, and prob-
ably may never return; why, then,
should I endeavor to engage the affec-
tions of this lovely girl, only to leave her
a prey to a thousand inquietudes of
which at present she has no idea ? I will
return to Portsmouth and think no more
The evening was now closed; a serene
( !harlotte Temple.
stillness reigned; and the moon with lier
silver crescent faintly illuminated the
The mind of Montraville was calmed
by the serenity of the surrounding ob-
jects. " I will think on her no more,"
said he, and turned with an intention to
leave the place; lut as he turned he saw
the gate which led to the pleasure-
grounds open and two women come out,
who walked arm in arm across the field.
" I will at least see who these are," said
He overtook them, and after saluting,
begged leave to see them into the more
frequented part of the town; but how T
was he delighted, when, waiting for an
answer, he discovered, under the con-
cealment of a large bonnet, the face of
He soon found means to ingratiate
himself with her companion, who was a
French teacher at the school 2 and at
parting, slipped a letter he had purpose-
ly written into Charlotte's hand, and
five guineas into that of mademoiselle,
who promised she wouM endeavor to
bring her young charge into the field
again the next evening.
Mr. Temple was the youngest son of
a nobleman, whose fortune was by no
means adequate to the antiquity, grand-
eur, and, I may add, pride of the family.
He saw his elder brother made complete-
ly wretched by marrying a disagreeable
woman, whose fortune helped to prop
the sinking dignity of the house; and he
beheld his sisters legally prostituted to
old, decrepit men, whose titles gave
( !harlotte Temple.
them consequence in the eyes of the
world, and whose affluence rendered
them splendidly miserable.
" I will not sacrifice internal happiness
for outward show," said he; " I will seek
content; and if I find her in a cottage,
will embrace her with as much cordial-
ity as I should if seated on a throne."
Mr. Temple possessed a small estate
of about five hundred pounds a year; and
with that he resolved to preserve inde-
pendence, to marry where the feelings
of his heart should direct him, and to
confine his expenses within the limits of
his income. He had a heart open to
every generous feeling of humanity, and
a hand ready to dispense to those who
wanted, part of the blessings he enjoyed
As he was universally known to be the
friend of the unfortunate, his advice and
bounty were frequently solicited; nor
was it seldom that he sought out indigent
merit, and raised it from obscurity, con-
fining his own expenses within a very
" You are a very benevolent fellow,"
said a young officer to him one day;
" and I have a great mind to give you a
subject to exercise the goodness of your
" You cannot oblige me more," said
Temple, " than to point out any way by
which I can be serviceable to my fellow
" Come along, then," said the young-
man. " We will go and visit a man who
is not in so good a lodging as he deserves ;
and were it not that he has an angel with
him, who comforts and supports him, he
must long since have sunk under his mis-
The young man's heart was too full
to proceed; and Temple, unwilling to ir-
ritate his feelings by making further
inquiries, followed him in silence till
they arrived at the Fleet prison.
1-t Charlotte Temple.
The officer inquired for Captain El-
dridge. A person led them up several
pairs of dirty stairs, and pointing to a
door which led to a miserable, small
apartment, said that was the captain's
room, and retired.
The officer, whose name was Blake-
ney, tapped at the door, and was bidden
to enter by a voice melodiously soft. He
opened the door and discovered to Tem-
ple a scene which riveted him to the spot
The apartment, though small and
bearing strong marks of poverty, was
neat in the extreme. In an arm-chair,
his head reclined on his hand, his eyes
fixed on a book which lay open before
him, sat an aged man in a lieutenant^
uniform, which, though threadbare,
should sooner call a blush of shame into
the face of those who could neglect real
merit, than cause the hectic of confusion
to glow on the cheeks of him who wore
Beside him sat a lovely creature,
busied in painting a fan mount. She
was fair as the lily; but sorrow had
nipped the rose in her cheek before it
was half blown. Her eyes were blue,
and her hair, which was light brown, was
slightly confined under a plain muslin
cap, tied around with a black ribbon; a
white linen gown and plain lawn hand-
kerchief composed the remainder of her
dress; and in this simple attire she was
more irresistibly charming to such a
heart as Temple's than she would have
been if adorned with all the splendor of
a courtly belle.
When they entered the old man arose
from his seat, and, shaking Blakeney by
the hand with great cordiality, offered
Temple his chair; and there being but
three in the room, seated himself on the
side of his little bed with evident com-
" This is a strange place," S9id he to
temple, " to receive visitors of distinc-
tion in, but we must fit our feelings to
our station. While I am not ashamed
to own the cause which brought me here,
why should I blush at my situation? Our
misfortunes are not our faults, and were
it not for that poor girl "
Here the philosopher was lost in the
father. He arose hastily from his seat,
walked toward the window, and wiped
off a tear which he was afraid would
tarnish the cheek of a sailor.
Temple cast his eye on Miss El-
dridge; a pellucid drop had stolen from
her eye, and fallen upon a rose she was
painting. It blotted and discolored the
flower. " 'Tis emblematic," said he,
mentally; " the rose of youth and health
soon fades when watered by the tear of
" My friend Blakeney," said he, ad-
dressing the old man, " told me I could
be of service to you; be so kind, then,
dear sir, as to point out some way in
which I can relieve the anxiety of your
heart and increase the pleasure of my
"My good young man," said Eldridge,
" you know not what you offer. While
deprived of my liberty, I cannot be free
from anxiety on my own account, but
that is a trifling concern; my anxious
thoughts extend to one more dear a
thousand times than life. I am a poor,
weak old man, and must expect in a few
years to sink into silence and oblivion,
but when I am gone who will protect
that fair bud of innocence from the
blasts of adversity, or from the cruel
hand of insult and dishonor? "
" Oh, my father ! " cried Miss El-
dridge, tenderly taking his hand, " be
not anxious on that account, for daily
are my prayers offered to Heaven that
our lives may terminate at the same in-
stant, and one grave receive us both, for
why should I live when deprived of my
only friend? "
Temple was moved even to tears.
" You will both live many years ! " he
said, " and, I hope, see much happiness.
Cheerily, my friend, cheerily ; these pass-
ing clouds of adversity will serve only to
make the sunshine of prosperity more
pleasing. But we are losing time; you
might, ere this, have told me who were
your creditors, what were their demands,
and other particulars necessary to your
"My story is short," said Mr. El-
dridge, " but there are some particulars
which will wring my heart barely to re-
member, yet to one whose offers of
friendship appear so open and disinter-
ested, I will relate every circumstance
that led to my present painful situation.
But, my child," continued he, addressing
his daughter, " let me prevail on you to
take this opportunity, while my friends
are with me, to enjoy the benefit of air
and exercise. Go, my love; leave me
now; to-morrow, at the usual hour, I will
Miss Eldridge impressed on his cheek
the kiss of filial affection, and obeyed.
" My life," said Mr. Eldridge, " till
within these few years, was marked by
no particular circumstance deserving no-
tice. I early embraced the life of a
sailor, and have served my king with un-
remitted ardor for many years. At the
age of twenty-five I married an amiable
woman; one son and the girl who just
now left us were the fruits of our union.
My boy had genius and spirit. I strained
20 Charlotte Temple.
my little income to give him a liberal
education; but the rapid progress he
made in his studies amply compensated
for the inconvenience. At the academy
where he received his education, he com-
menced an acquaintance with a Mr.
Lewis, a young man of affluent fortune;
as they grew up, their intimacy ripened
into friendship, and they became almost
" George chose the profession of a
soldier. I had neither friends nor money
to procure him a commission, and had
washed him to embrace a nautical life,
but this was repugnant to his wishes, and
I ceased to urge him on the subject. The
friendship existing between Lewis and
my son was of such a nature as gave him
free access to our family, and so specious
was his manner that we hesitated not to
state to him all our little difficulties in
regard to George's future views.
" He listened to us with attention, and
offered to advance any sum necessary for
his first setting out.
" I embraced the offer, and gave him
my note for the payment of it; but he
would not suffer me to mention any
stipulated time, as he said I might do it
whenever most convenient to myself.
"About this time my dear Lucy re-
turned from school, and I soon began to
imagine Lewis looked at her with eyes of
affection. I gave my child caution to
beware of him, and to look on her moth-
er as her friend. She was unaffectedly
artless; and when, as I suspected, Lewis
made professions of love, she confided in
her parents, and assured us that her heart
was perfectly unbiased in his favor, and
she would cheerfully submit to our di-
" I took an early opportunity of ques-
tioning him concerning his intentions
tow r ard my child; he gave an equivocal
and suspicious answer — some angry
words followed, and I forbade him the
" The next day he sent and demanded
payment of his money. It was not in
my power to comply with the demand.
I requested three days to endeavor to
raise it, determining to mortgage my
half-pay, and live on a small annuity
which my wife possessed, rather than be
under any obligation to so worthless a
man; but this short time was not allowed
me, for that evening, as I was sitting-
down to supper, unsuspicious of danger,
an officer entered and tore me from the
embraces of my family.
" My wife had been for some time in
a declining state of health; ruin at once
so unexpected and inevitable was a
stroke she was not prepared to bear; and
I saw her faint in the arms of our ser-
vant, as I left my own habitation for the
comfortless walls of a prison.
" My poor Lucy, distracted with her
Charlotte Temple. 23
fears for us both, sank on the floor and
endeavored to retain me by her feeble ef-
forts, but in vain; they forced her to
open her arms; she shrieked and fell
prostrated — but pardon me — the horrors
of that night unman me. I cannot pro-
He arose from his seat and walked
several times across the room; at length,
attaining more composure, he cried :
" What a mere infant I am ! Why,
sir, I never felt thus in the day of bat-
"Xo," said Temple; "but the truly
brave soldier is tremblingly alive to the
feelings of humanity."
" True," repled the old man (some-
thing like satisfaction darting across his
features), " and painful as these feelings
are, I would not exchange them for that
torpor which the stoic mistakes for phil-
osophy. How many exquisite delights
should I have passed by unnoticed, but
24 Charlotte Temple.
for these keen sensations, this quick
sense of happiness or misery! Then let
us, my friend, take the cup of life as it
is presented to us, tempered by the hand
of a wise Providence; be thankful for
the good, be patient under the evil, and
presume not to inquire why the latter
" This is true philosophy," said Tem-
" 'Tis the only way to reconcile our-
selves to the cross events of life," replied
he. " But I forgot myself. I will not
longer intrude on your patience, but pro-
ceed with my melancholy tale.
" The very evening that I was taken
to prison, my son arrived from Ireland,
where he had been some time with his
regiment. From the distracted expres-
sions of his mother and sister, he learned
by whom I had been arrested, and, late
as it was, flew on the wings of wounded
affection to the house of his false friend,
Charlotte Temple. 25
and earnestly inquired the cause of this
cruel conduct. With all the calmness
of a cool, deliberate villain, he avowed
his passion for Lucy, declared her situa-
tion in life would not permit him to
marry her, but offered to release me im-
mediately, and make any settlement
upon her, if George would persuade her
to live, as he impiously termed it, a life
" Fired at the insult offered to a man
and a soldier, my boy struck the villain,
and a challenge ensued.
" He then went to a coffee-house in
the neighborhood, and wrote a long, af-
fectionate letter to me, blaming himself
severely for having introduced Lewis
into the family, or permitting him to pay
an obligation which had brought in-
evitable ruin on us all. He begged me,
whatever might be the event of the en-
suing morning, not to suffer regret or
unavailing sorrow for his fate to increase
the anguish of my heart, which he great-
ly feared was already insupportable.
" This letter was delivered to me early
in the morning. It would "be vain to at-
tempt to describe my feelings on the
perusal of it ; suffice it to say, that a mer-
ciful Providence interposed, and I was
for three weeks insensible- to miseries al-
most beyond the strength of human
nature to support.
"A fever and strong delirium seized
me, and my life was despaired of.
"At length nature, overpowered with
fatigue, gave way to the salutary power
of rest, and a quiet slumber of some
hours restored me to reason, though the
extreme weakness of my frame pre-
vented my feeling my distress so acutely
as I otherwise should.
" The first object that struck me on
awakening was Lucy sitting by my bed-
side; her pale countenance and dress pre-
vented my inquiries for poor George; for
the letter I had received from him was
the first thing that occurred to my mem-
ory. By degrees the rest returned; I
recollected being arrested, but could in
no way account for being in this apart-
ment, whither they had conveyed me
during my illness.
" I was so weak as to be almost unable
to speak; I pressed Lucy's hand, and
looked earnestly around the apartment
in search of another dear object.
" ' Where is your mother ? ' said I,
" The poor girl could not answer ! She
shook her head in expressive silence, and
throwing herself on the bed, folded her
arms about me and burst into tears.
" 1 What, both gone ? ' said I.
" ' Both,' she replied, endeavoring to
restrain her emotions; 'but they are
happy, no doubt.' "
Here Mr. Eldridge paused! the recol-
lection of the scene was too painful to
permit him to proceed.
CHANGE OF FORTUNE.
" It was some days/' continued Mr.
Eldridge, recovering himself, " before I
could venture to inquire the particulars
of what had happened during my illness;
at last I assumed courage to ask my dear
girl how long her mother and brother
had been dead. She told me that the
morning after my arrest, George came
home early to inquire after his mother's
health, stayed with them but a few min-
utes, seemed to be greatly agitated at
parting, but gave them strict charge to
keep up their spirits, and hope every-
thing would turn out for the best. In
about two hours, as they were sitting at
breakfast and endeavoring to strike out
some plan to attain my liberty, they
heard a loud rap at the door, which Lucy,
running to open, she met the bleeding
body of her brother, borne in by two
men, who lifted it from a litter, on
which they had brought him from the
place where he had fought.
" Her poor mother, weakened by ill-
ness and the struggles of the preceding
night, was not able to support this shock;
gasping for breath, her looks wild and
haggard, she reached the apartment
where they had carried her dying son.
She knelt by his bedside, and taking his
cold hand : ' My poor boy/ said she, ' I
will not be parted from thee; husband —
son — both at once lost ! Father of mer-
cies, spare me ! ' She fell into a strong
convulsion, and expired within two
hours. In the meantime a surgeon had
dressed George's wounds; but they were
in such a situation as to bar the smallest
hopes of recovery. He never was sensi-
ble from the time he was brought home,
and died that evening in the arms of his
30 Charlotte Temple.
" Late as it was when this event took
place, my affectionate Lucy insisted on
coming to me. * What must he feel,'
said she, ' at our apparent neglect, and
how shall I inform him of the afflictions
with which it has pleased Heaven to visit
" She left the care of the dear depart-
ed ones to some neighbors, who had kind-
ly some in to comfort and assist her, and
on entering the house where I was con-
fined, found me in the situation I have
" How she supported herself in these
trying moments I know not; Heaven
no doubt was with her; and her anxiety
to preserve the life of one parent in some
measure abated her affliction for the loss
of the other.
" My circumstances were greatly em-
barrassed, my acquaintances few, and
those few utterly unable to assist me.
When my wife and son were committed
Charlotte Temple. 31
to their kindred earth, my creditors
seized my house and furniture, which,
not being sufficient to satisfy their de-
mands, detainers were lodged against
me. Xo friend stepped foward to my re-
lief; from the grave of her mother, my
beloved Lucy followed an almost dying
father to this melancholy place.
" Here we have been nearly a year and
a half. My half-pay I have given up to
satisfy my creditors, and my child sup-
ports me by her industry; sometimes by
fine needle-work, sometimes by painting.
She leaves me every night, and goes to a
lodging near the bridge; but returns in
the morning to cheer me with her smiles,
and bless me by her duteous affection. A
lady once offered her an a>ylum in her
family, but she would not leave me.
* AVe are all the world to each other/ said
she. i I thank God I have health and
spirits to improve the talents nature has
endowed me with; I trust, if I employ
them in the support of a beloved parent,
I shall not be thought an unprofitable
servant. "While he lives I pray for
strength to pursue my employment ; and
when it pleases Heaven to take one of
us, may it give the survivor fortitude to
bear the separation with due resignation ;
till then I will never leave him.' "
" But where is this inhuman persecu-
tor ? " said Temple.
" He has been abroad ever since," re-
plied the old man ; " but he has left or-
ders with his lawyer never to give up the
note until the utmost farthing is paid."
"And how much is the amount of
your debts in all ? " said Temple.
" Five hundred pounds," he replied.
Temple started; it was more than he
" But something must be done," said
he ; " that sweet maid must not wear out
her life in prison. I will see you again
to-morrow, my friend," said he, shaking
Charlotte Temple. 33
Eldridge's hand. " Keep up your spir-
its; light and shade are not more happily
blended than are the pleasures and pains
of life; and the horrors of the one serve
only to increase the splendor of the
" You never lost a wife and son," said
" No/' replied he, " but I can feel for
those that have."
Eldridge pressed his hand, as they
went toward the door, and they parted
"When they got without the walls of
the prison, Temple thanked his friend
Blakeney for introducing him to so
worthy a character ; and, telling him that
he had a particular engagement in the
city, wished him a good-evening.
"And what is to be done for this dis-
tressed man ? " said Temple, as he walk-
ed up Ludgate Hill. " Would to Heaven
I had a fortune that would enable me in-
stantly to discharge his debt; what ex-
quisite transport, to see the expressive
eyes of Lucy beaming at once with
pleasure for her father's deliverance and
gratitude for his deliverer; but is not
my fortune affluence," continued he,
" nay, superfluous wealth, when com-
pared to the extreme indigence of El-
dridge? And what have I done to de-
serve ease and plenty, while a brave
officer starves in prison? Three hundred
a year is surely sufficient for all my
wants and wishes; at any rate, Eldridge
must be relieved."
When the heart has will, the hands
can soon find means to execute a good
Temple was a young man, his feelings
warm and impetuous; unacquainted
with the world, his heart had not been
rendered callous by being convinced of
its fraud and hypocrisy. He pitied their
sufferings, overlooked their faults,
thought every bosom as generous as his
own, and would cheerfully have divided
his last guinea with an unfortunate fel-
~No wonder, then, that such a man
(without waiting a moment for the in-
terference of Madame Prudence) should
resolve to raise money sufficient for the
relief of Eldridge, by mortgaging part
of his fortune.
We will not inquire too minutely into
the motive which might actuate him in
this instance: suffice it to say, he im-
mediately, put the plan into execution ;
and in three days from the time he first
saw the unfortunate lieutenant he had
the superlative felicity of seeing him at
liberty, and receiving an ample reward
in the tearful eye and half-articulated
thanks of the grateful Lucy.
''And pray, young man," said his
father to him one morning, 4 ' what are
your designs in visiting thus constantly
the old man and his daughter ? ' '
36 Charlotte Temple.
Temple was at a loss for a reply; he
had never asked himself the question ; he
hesitated, and his father continued:
a It was not till within these few days
that I heard in what manner your ac-
quaintance first commenced, and I can-
not suppose anything but attachment to
the daughter could carry you such im-
prudent lengths for the father; it must
certainly have been her art that drew
you into mortgaging part of your for-
"Art, sir ! " cried Temple, eagerly —
" Lucy Eldridge is as free from art as
she is from every other error; she
" Everything that is amiable and love-
ly," said his father, interrupting him,
ironically. " No doubt, in your opin-
ion, she is a pattern of excellence for all
her sex to follow. But come, sir, pray
tell me, what are your designs towards
this paragon ? I hope you do not intend
to complete your folly by marrying
her ? "
" Were my fortune such as would sup-
port her according to her merit, I don't
know a woman more formed to insure
happiness in the marriage state."
" Then, prithee, my dear lad," said
his father, " since your rank and fortune
are so much beneath what your Princess
might expect, be so kind as to turn your
eyes to Miss Weatherby, who, having
only an estate of three thousand a year,
is more upon a level with you, and whose
father yesterday solicited the mighty
honor of your alliance. I leave you to
consider on this offer, and pray remem-
ber that your union with Miss Weather-
by will put it in your power to be more
liberally the friend of Lucy Eldridge."
The old gentleman walked in a stately
manner out of the room, and Temple
stood almost petrified with astonishment,
contempt and rage.
SUCH THINGS ARE.
Miss Weatherby was the only child
of a wealthy man, almost idolized by her
parents, nattered by her dependents, and
never contradicted, even by those who
called themselves her friends.
I cannot give a better description
than by the following lines:
The lovely maid whose form and face
Nature has deek'd with every grace,
But in whose breast no virtues glow,
Whose heart ne'er felt another's woe,
Whose hand ne'er smooth'd the bed of pain,
Or eas'd the captive's galling chain:
But like the tulip caught the eye,
Born just to be admir'd and die;
When gone, no one regrets its loss,
Or scarce remembers that it was.
Such was Miss Weatherby; her form
lovely as nature conld make it, but her
mind uncultivated, her passions impetu-
ous, and her brain almost turned with
Charlotte Temple. 39
flattery, dissipation, and pleasure; and
such was the girl whom a partial grand-
father left independent mistress of the
fortune before mentioned.
She had seen Temple frequently; and.
fancying she could never be happy with-
out him, nor once imagining he could
refuse a girl of her beauty and fortune,
she prevailed on her fond father to offer
the alliance to the Earl of D , Mr.
The earl had received the offer court-
eously; he thought it a great match for
Henry; and was too fashionable a man
to suppose a wife could be any impedi-
ment to the friendship he professed for
Eldridge and his daughter.
Unfortunately for Temple,* he
thought quite otherwise; the conversa-
tion he had just had with his father dis-
covered to him the situation of his heart ;
and he found that the most affluent for-
tune would bring no increase of happi-
40 Charlotte Temple.
ness unless Lucy Eldridge shared it with
him; and the integrity of his own heart
made him shudder at the idea his father
had started, of marrying a woman for no
other reason than because the affluence of
her fortune would enable him to injure
her by maintaining in splendor the
woman to whom his heart was devoted;
he therefore resolved to refuse ^liss
Weatherby, and, be the event what it
might, offer his heart and hand to Lucy
Full of this determination, he sought
his father, declared his resolution, and
was commanded never more to appear in
Temple bowed; his heart was too full
to permit him to speak; he left the house
precipitately, and hastened to relate the
cause of his sorrow to his good old friend
and his amiable daughter.
In the meantime, the earl, vexed to
the soul that such a fortune should be
Charlotte Temple. 41
lost, determined to offer himself a candi-
date for Miss Weatherby's favor.
What wonderful changes are wrought
by that reigning power, ambition ! The
love-sick girl, when first she heard of
Temple's refusal, wept, raved, tore her
hair, and vowed to found a Protestant
nunnery with her fortune; and com-
mencing abbess, to shut herself up from
the sight of cruel, ungrateful man for-
Her father was a man of the world; he
suffered his first transport to subside,
and then very deliberately unfolded to
her the offers of the old earl, expatiating
on the many benefits arising from an ele-
vated title ; painted in glowing colors the
surprise and vexation of Temple when
he should see her figuring as a countess
and his step-mother, and begged her to
consider well before she made any rash
The distressed fair one dried her tears,
listened patiently, and at length declared
she believed the surest method to re-
venge the slight put on her by the son.
would be to accept the father; so said —
so done, and in a feAv days she became
the Countess D .
Temple heard the news with emotion;
he had lost his father's favor by avowing
his passion for Lucy, and he saw now
there was no hope of regaining it. " But
he shall not make me miserable," said
he. " Lucy and I have no ambitious no-
tions; we can live on three hundred a
year for some little time, till the mort-
gage is paid off, and then we shall have
sufficient not only for the comforts, but
many of the little elegancies of life. We
will purchase a little cottage, my Lucy,"
said he, " thither with your reverend
father, we will retire; we will forget that
there are such things as splendor, pro-
fusion, and dissipation — we will have
some cow t s, and you shall be queen of the
Charlotte Temple. 43
dairy; in the morning, while I look after
my garden, you shall take a basket on
your arm, and sally forth to feed your
poultry; and as they flutter round you in
humble gratitude, your father shall
smoke his pipe in a woodbine alcove, and
viewing the serenity of your counten-
ance, feel such real pleasure dilate his
heart as shall make him regret that he
has ever been unhappy."
Lucy smiled, and Temple saw it was
the smile of approbation. He sought
and found a cottage suited to his taste;
thither, attended by love and Hymen,
the happy trio retired, where, during
many years of uninterrupted felicity,
they cast not a wish beyond the little
boundaries of their own tenement.
Plenty, and her hand-maid, Prudence,
presided at their board; hospitality stood
at their gate, peace smiled on each face,
content reigned in each heart, and love
and health strewed roses on their pillows.
44 Charlotte Temple.
Such were the parents of Charlotte
Temple, who was the only pledge of
their mutual love, and who, at the earn-
est entreaty of a particular friend, was
permitted to finish the education her
mother had begun, at Madame Du
Pont's school, where we first introduced
her to the acquaintance of the reader.
AN INTRIGUING TEACHER.
Madame Du Pont was a woman in
every way calculated to take care of
young ladies, had that care entirely de-
volved on herself; but it was impossible
to attend to the education of a numerous
school without proper assistants; and
those assistants were not always the kind
of people whose conversations and
morals were exactly such as parents of
delicacy and refinement would wish a
daughter to copy.
Among the teachers at Madame Du
Font's school was Mademoiselle La Rue,
who added to a pleasing person and in-
sinuating address a liberal education and
the manners of a gentlewoman. She
was recommended to the school by a lady
whose humanity overstepped the bounds
of discretion ; for, though she knew Miss
La Rue had eloped from a convent with
a young officer, and on coming to Eng-
land had lived in open defiance of all
moral and religious duties, yet, finding
her reduced to the most abject want, and
believing the penitence which she pro-
fessed to be sincere, she took her into her
own family, and thence recommended
her to Madame Du Pont, as thinking the
situation more suitable for a woman of
But mademoiselle possessed too much
46 Charlotte Temple.
the spirit of intrigue to remain long
without adventures. At church, where
she constantly appeared, her person at-
tracted the attention of a young man
who was upon a visit at a gentleman's
seat in the neighborhood; she had met
him several times clandestinely, and be-
ing invited to come out that evening and
eat some fruit and pastry in a summer-
house belonging to the gentleman he was
visiting, and requested to bring some of
the ladies with her, Charlotte, being her
favorite, was fixed on to accompany her.
The mind of youth easily catches at
promised pleasure. Pure and innocent
by nature, it thinks not of the dangers
lurking beneath those pleasures until too
late to avoid them.
When mademoiselle asked Charlotte
to go with her, she mentioned the gen-
tleman as a relation, and spoke in such
high terms of the elegance of his gar-
dens, the sprightliness of his conversa-
Charlotte Temple. 47
tion, and the liberality with which he
entertained his guests, that Charlotte
thought only of the pleasure she should
enjoy in the visit, not of the imprudence
of going without her governess' knowl-
edge, or of the danger to which she ex-
posed herself in visiting the house of a
young man of fashion.
Madame Du Pont had gone out for
the evening, and the rest of the ladies
had retired to rest, when Charlotte and
the teacher stole out of the back gate,
and in crossing the field, were accosted
by Montraville, as mentioned in the first
Charlotte was disappointed at the
pleasure she had promised herself from
this visit. The levity of the gentlemen
and the freedom of their conversation
disgusted her. She was astonished at
the liberties mademoiselle permitted
them to take, grew thoughtful and un-
easy, and heartily wished herself at home
again, in her own chamber.
48 Charlotte Temple.
Perhaps one cause of that wish might
be an earnest desire to see the contents of
the letter which had been put into her
hand by Montraville.
Any reader, who has the least knowl-
edge of the world, will easily imagine the
letter was made up of encomiums on her
beauty, and vows of everlasting love and
constancy, nor will he be surprised that
a heart open to every gentle, generous
sentiment, should feel itself warmed by
gratitude for a man who professed to feel
so much for her, nor is it improbable that
her mind might revert to the agreeable
person and martial appearance of Mon-
In affairs of love, a young heart is
never in more danger than when attack-
ed by a handsome young soldier. A man
of indifferent appearance will, when ar-
rayed in a military habit, show to ad-
vantage, but when beauty of person, ele-
gance of manner, and an easy method
of paying compliments are united to the
scarlet coat, smart cockade, and military
sash — ah! well-a-day for the poor girl
who gazes upon him; she is in imminent
danger, but if she listens to him with
pleasure, 'tis all over with her, and from
that moment she has neither eyes nor
ears for any other object.
Xow, my dear, sober matron — if a
sober matron should deign to turn over
these pages before she trusts them to the
eyes of a darling daughter — let me en-
treat you not to put on a grave face and
throw down the book in a passion, and de-
clare 'tis enough to turn the heads of half
the girls in England. I do solemnly pro-
test, my dear madam, I mean no more
by what I have here advanced than to
ridicule those girls who foolishly im-
agine a red coat and a silver eqaulet con-
stitute a fine gentleman; and should that
fine gentleman make half a dozen fine
speeches to them they will imagine
themselves so much in love as to fancy
it a meritorious act to jump out of a
two-pair stairs window, abandon their
friends, and trust entirely to the honor
of a man who, perhaps, hardly knows
the meaning of the word, and if he does,
will be too much the modern man of re-
finement to practise it in their favor.
Gracious Heaven ! when I think of the
miseries that must rend the heart of a
doting parent, when he sees the darling
of his age at first seduced from his protec-
tion, and afterwards abandoned by the
very wretch whose promises of love de-
coyed her from the paternal roof — when
he sees her poor and wretched, her bosom
torn between remorse for her crime and
love for her foul betrayer — when fancy
paints to me the good old man stooping
to raise the weeping penitent, while
every tear from her eye is numbered by
drops from his bleeding heart, my bosom
glows with honest indignation, and T
wish for power to extirpate these mon-
sters of seduction from the earth.
Oh, my dear girls — for to such only
am I writing — listen not to the voice of
love, unless sanctioned by paternal ap-
probation; be assured, it is now past the
days of romance; no woman can be run
away with contrary to her own inclina-
tion ; then kneel down each morning and
request kind Heaven to keep you free
from temptation; or should it please to
suffer you to be tried, pray for fortitude
to resist the impulse of natural inclina-
tion, when it runs counter to the precepts
of religion and virtue.
NATURAL SENSE OF PROPRIETY INHERENT
IN THE FEMALE BOSOM.
" I cannot think we have done exact-
ly right in going ont this evening,
mademoiselle," said Charlotte, seating
herself, when she entered her apart-
ment; u nay, I am sure it was not right;
for I expected to be very happy, but was
" It was your own fault, then," replied
mademoiselle ; " for I am sure my cousin
omitted nothing that could serve to ren-
der the evening agreeable."
"True," said Charlotte, "but I
thought the gentlemen were very free in
their manner; I wonder you would suf-
fer them to behave as they did."
" Prithee, don't be such a foolish little
prude," said the artful woman, affecting
anger. " I invited you to go, in hope* it
Charlotte Temple. 53
would divert you, and be an agreeable
change of scene; however, if your del-
icacy was hurt by the behavior of the
gentlemen, you need not go again; so
there let it rest."
" I do not intend to go again," said
Charlotte, gravely, taking off her bon-
net, and beginning to prepare for bed.
" I am sure, if Madame Du Pont knew
we had been out to-night, she would be
very angry; and it is ten to one but she
hears of it by some means or other."
" Nay, miss," said La Rue, " perhaps
your mighty sense of propriety may lead
you to tell her yourself, and in order to
avoid the censure you would incur
should she hear of it by accident, throw
the blame on me ; but I confess I deserve
it ; it will be a very kind return for that
partiality which led me to prefer you be-
fore any of the rest of the ladies, but
perhaps it will give you pleasure," con-
tinued she, letting fall some hypocritical
54 Charlotte Temple.
tears, " to see me deprived of bread, and
for an action which by the most rigid
could be esteemed but an inadvertency,
lose my place and character, and be
driven again into the world, where I
have already suffered all the evils attend-
ant on poverty."
This was touching Charlotte in the
most vulnerable part; she arose from her
seat, and taking mademoiselle's hand —
" You know, my dear La Kue," said she,
" I love you too well to do anything that
would injure you in my governess' opin-
ion; I am only sorry we went out this
"I don't believe it, Charlotte," said
she, assuming a little vivacity, " for, if
you had not gone out, you would not
have seen the gentleman who met us
crossing the field, and I rather think you
were pleased with his conversation."
" I had seen him once before," replied
Charlotte, " and thought him an agree-
Charlotte Temple. 55
able man, and you know one is always
pleased to see a person with whom one
has passed several cheerful hours. But,"
said she, pausing and drawing the letter
from her pocket, while a general suffu-
sion of vermilion tinged her neck and
face, " he gave me this letter; what shall
I do with it \ "
" Read it, to be sure," returned made-
" I am afraid I ought not," said Char-
lotte. " My mother has often told me
I should never read a letter given me by
a young man without first giving it to
" Lord bless you, my dear girl ! "
cried the teacher, smiling, " have you a
mind to be in leading strings all your
lifetime? Prithee, open the letter, read
it, and judge for yourself. If you show
it to your mother, the consequence will
be, you will be taken from school, and a
strict guard kept over you, so you w T ill
56 Charlotte Temple.
stand no chance of ever seeing the smart
young officer again."
" I should not like to leave school
yet/' replied Charlotte, " till I have at-
tained a greater proficiency in my Ital-
ian and music. But you can, if you
please, mademoiselle, take the letter
back to Montraville, and tell him I wish
him well, but cannot, with any pro-
priety, enter into a clandestine corres-
pondence with him."
She laid the letter on the table, and
began to undress herself.
" Well," said La Kue, a I vow you are
an unaccountable girl. Have you no
curiosity to see the inside now? For
my part, I could no more let a letter ad-
dressed to me lie unopened so long than
I could work miracles; he writes a good
hand," continued she, turning the letter
to look at the superscription.
" 'Tis well enough," said C harlotte,
drawing it towards her.
" He is a genteel young fellow," said
La Rue, carelessly, folding up her apron
at the same time; "but I think he is
marked with the smallpox."
" Oh, you are greatly mistaken," said
Charlotte, eagerly; "he has a remark-
ably clear skin and a fine complexion.
" His eyes, if I should judge by what
I saw," said La Rue, " are gray, and
"By no means," replied Charlotte;
" they are the most expressive eyes I ever
" Well, child, whether they are gray
or black is of no consequence; you have
determined not to read his letter, so it is
likely you will never either see or hear
from him again."
Charlotte took up the letter, and
mademoiselle continued :
" He is most probably going to Amer-
ica; and if ever you should hear any ac-
count of him it may possibly be that he
58 Charlotte Temple.
is killed; and though he loved you ever
so fervently, though his last breath
should be spent in a prayer for your hap-
piness, it can be nothing to you; you can
feel nothing for the fate of the man
whose letter you will not open, and
whose sufferings you will not alleviate,
by permitting him to think you would
remember him when absent and pray for
Charlotte still held the letter in her
hand; her heart swelled at the conclu-
sion of mademoiselle's speech, and a tear
dropped on the wafer that closed it.
" The wafer is not dry yet," said she,
" and sure there can be no great
harm " She hesitated. La Eue
was silent. " I may read it, made-
moiselle, and return it afterwards."
" Certainly," replied mademoiselle.
"At any rate, I am determined not to
answer it," continued Charlotte, as she
opened the letter.
Charlotte Temple. 59
Here let me stop to make one remark,
and trust me, my very heart aches while
I write it; but certain I am that when
once a woman has stifled the sense of
shame in her own bosom — when once
she has lost sight of the basis on which
reputation, honor, everything that
. should be dear to the female heart, rests
— she grows hardened in guilt, and will
spare no pains to bring down innocence
and beauty to the shocking level with
herself; and this proceeds from that dia-
bolical spirit of envy which repines at
seeing another in full possession of that
respect and esteem which she can no
longer hope to enjoy.
Mademoiselle eyed the unsuspecting
Charlotte, as she perused the letter, with
malignant pleasure. She saw that the
contents had awakened new emotions in
her youthful bosom.'
She encouraged her hopes, calmed her
fears, and before they parted for the
00 Charlotte Temple.
night, it was determined that she should
meet Montraville on the ensuing even-
DOMESTIC PLEASURES PLANNED.
" I think, my dear/' said Mrs. Term
pie, laying her hand on her husband's
arm, as they were walking together in
the garden, " I think next Wednesday
will be Charlotte's birthday. Xow, I
have formed a little scheme in my own
mind to give her an agreeable surprise,
and if you have no objection, we will
send for her to come home on that day."
Temple pressed his wife's hand in
token of approbation, and she proceeded :
" You know the little alcove in the
bottom of the garden, of which Char-
Charlotte Temple. 61
lotte is so fond? I have an inclination
to deck it out in a fanciful manner, and
invite all her little friends to partake of
a collation of fruit, sweetmeats, and
other things suitable to the general taste
of young guests, and to make it more
pleasing to Charlotte, she shall be mis-
tress of the feast, and entertain her visit-
ors in this alcove. I know she will be
delighted, and, to complete all, they
shall have some music, and finish with a
" A very fine plan, indeed," said Tem-
ple, smiling, " and you really suppose I
will wink at your indulging the girl in
this manner? You will spoil her, Lucy;
indeed you will."
" She is the only child we have," said
Mrs. Temple, the whole tenderness of a
mother adding animation to her fine
countenance, but it was w T ithal tempered
so sweetly with the meek affection and
kind compliance of the wife, that as she
paused, expecting her husband's answer,
he gazed at her tenderly, and found he
was unable to refuse her request.
" She is a good girl," said Temple.
" She is, indeed," replied the fond
mother, exultingly, " a grateful, affec-
tionate girl; and I am sure will never
lose sight of the duty she owes her
" If she does," said he, " she must for-
get the example set her by the best of
Mrs. Temple could not reply; but the
delightful sensation that dilated her
heart sparkled in her intelligent eye and
heightened the vermillion on her cheeks.
Of all the pleasures of which the hu-
man mind is sensible, there is none equal
to that which warms and expands the
bosom when w T e are listening to com-
mendation bestowed on us by a beloved
object, and we are conscious of having
( Jharlotte Temple.
Ye giddy flutterers in the fantastic
round of dissipation, who eagerly seek
pleasure in the lofty dome, rich »treat,
and midnight revel — tell me, thought-
less daughters of folly, have you ever
found the phantom you have so long
sought with unremitting assiduity?
Has she not always eluded your grasp,
and when you have reached your hand
to take the cup she extends to the de-
luded votaries, have you not found the
long-expected draught strongly tinc-
tured with the bitter dregs of disappoint-
ment ? I know you have. I see it in the
wan cheek, sunken eye, and air of cha-
grin, which ever mark the children of
dissipation. Pleasure is a vain illusion;
she draws you on to a thousand follies,
errors, and, I may say, vices, and then
leaves you to deplore your thoughtless
Look, my dear friends, at yonder
lovely virgin, arrayed in a white robe,
64 Charlotte Temple.
devoid of ornament; behold the meekness
of her countenance, the modesty of her
gait; her handmaids are humility, filial
piety, conjugal affection, industry and
benevolence; her name is Content; she
holds in her hand the cup of true felic-
ity, and when once you have formed an
intimate acquaintance with these her at-
tendants — nay, you must admit them as
your bosom friends and chief counsellors
■ — then, whatever may be your situation
in life, the meek-eyed virgin will imme-
diately take up her abode with you.
Is poverty your portion? she will
lighten your labors, preside at your fru-
gal board, and watch your quiet slum-
Is your state mediocrity? she will
heighten every blessing you enjoy, by in-
forming you how grateful you should be
to that bountiful Providence, who might
have placed you in the most abject situ-
ation, and by teaching you to weigh your
blessings against your deserts, show you
how much more you receive than you
have a right to expect.
Are you possessed of affluence — what
an inexhaustible fund of happiness she
will lay before you! To relieve the dis-
tress, redress the injured — in short to
perform all the good works of peace and
Content, my dear friends, will blunt
even the arrows of an adversary, so that
they cannot materially harm you.
She will dwell in the humblest cot-
tage; she will attend you even to a pris-
on; her parent is Religion; her sisters,
Patience and Hope.
She will pass with you through life,
smoothing the rough paths, and tread-
ing to earth those thorns which every
one must meet with as they journey on-
ward to the appointed goal.
She will soften the pains of sickness,
continue with you even in the coM,
gloomy hour of death, and cheering yon
with the smiles of her heaven-born sis-
ter, Hope, will lead you triumphantly
to a blissful eternity.
I confess I have rambled strangely
from my story, but what of that? If I
have been so lucky as to find the road to
happiness, why should I be such a nig-
gard as to omit so good an opportunity
of pointing out the way to others?
The very basis of true peace of mind
is a benevolent wish to see all the world
as happy as one's self ; and from my soul
do I pity the selfish churl, who, remem-
bering the little bickering of anger,
envy, and fifty other disagreeables to
which frail mortality is subject, would
wish to avenge the affront which pride
whispers him he has received.
For my own part, I can safely declare,
there is not a human being in the uni-
verse whose prosperity I should not re-
joice in, and to whose happiness I would
Charlotte Temple. 07
not contribute to the utmost limit of my
power. And may my offenses be no
more remembered in the day of general
retribution, than as from my soul I for-
give every offense or injury received
from a fellow-creature.
Merciful Heaven ! who would ex-
change the rapture of such a reflection
for all the gaudy tinsel which the world
But to return. Content dwelt in Mrs.
Temple's bosom, and spread a charming
animation over her countenance, as her
husband led her in, to lay the plan she
had formed (for the celebration of Char-
lotte's birthday) before Mr. Eldridge.
WE KNOW NOT WHAT A DAY MAY BRING
Various were the sensations which
agitated the mind of Charlotte during
the day preceding the evening in which
she was to meet Montraville.
Several times did she almost resolve
to go to her governess, show her his let-
ter, and be guided by her advice; but
Charlotte had taken one step in the ways
of imprudence, and when that is once
done, there are always innumerable ob-
stacles to prevent the erring person re-
turning to the path of rectitude; yet
these obstacles, however forcible they
may appear in general, exist only in the
Charlotte feared the anger of her gov-
erness; she loved her mother, and the
• el '
very idea of incurring her displeasure
gave the greatest uneasiness; but there
was a more forcible reason still remain-
ing. Should she show the letter to Mad-
ame Du Pont, she must confess the
means by which it came into her pos-
session; and what would be the conse-
quence? Mademoiselle would be turned
" I must not be ungrateful," said she.
" La Rue is very kind to me ; besides, I
can, when I see Montraville, inform him
of the impropriety of our continuing to
see or correspond with each other, and
request him to come no more to Chi-
However prudent Charlotte might be
in these resolutions, she certainly did
not take a proper method to confirm her-
self in them. Several times in the
course of the day, she indulged herself
in reading over the letter, and each time
she read it the contents sank deeper in
70 Charlotte Temple.
her heart. As evening drew near, she
caught herself frequently consulting her
" I wish this foolish meeting was
over," said she, by way of apology to her
own heart. "I wish it was over; for
when I have seen him and convinced
him that my resolution is not to be
shaken, I shall feel my mind much
The appointed 'hour arrived. Char-
lotte and mademoiselle eluded the eye
of vigilance; and Montraville, who had
waited their coming with impatience, re-
ceived them with rapturous and un-
bounded acknowledgment for their con-
descension. He had wisely brought Bel-
cour with him to entertain mademois-
elle, while he enjoyed an uninterrupted
conversation with Charlotte.
Belcour was a man whose character
might be comprised in a few words; and
as he will make some figure in the ensu-
ing pages, I shall here describe him. He
possessed a genteel fortune, and had had
a liberal education; dissipated, thought-
less and capricious, he paid little regard
to the moral duties, and less to religious
ones; eager in the pursuit of pleasure,
he minded not the miseries he inflicted
on others, provided his own wishes, how-
ever extravagant, were gratified. Self,
daring self, was the idol he worshiped,
and to that he would have sacrificed the
interest and happiness of all mankind.
Such was the friend of Montraville.
Will not the reader be ready to imagine,
that the man who could regard such, a
character must be actuated by the same
feelings, follow the same pursuits, and
be equally unworthy with the person to
whom he thus gave his confidence?
But Montraville was a different char-
acter; generous in his disposition, lib-
eral in his opinion, and good-natured al-
most to a fault, yet eager and impetuous
in the pursuit of a favorite object, he
stayed not to reflect on the consequences
which might follow the attainment of
his wishes; with a mind ever open to
conviction, had he been so fortunate as
to possess a friend who would have
pointed out the cruelty of endeavoring
to gain the heart of an innocent, artless
girl, when he knew it was utterly impos-
sible for him to marry her, and when
the gratification of his passion would be
unavoidable infamy and misery to her,
and a . cause of never-ceasing remorse to
himself. Had these dreadful conse-
quences been placed before him in a
proper light, the humanity of his nature
would have urged him to give up the
pursuit. But Belcour was not his
friend; he rather encouraged the grow-
ing passion of Montraville, and being
pleased with the vivacity of mademois-
elle, resolved to leave no argument un-
tried which he thought might prevail
Charlotte Temple. 73
on her to be the companion of their in-
tended voyage, and he had no doubt but
their example, added to the rhetoric of
Montraville, would persuade Charlotte
to go with them.
Charlotte had, when she went out to
meet Montraville, flattered herself that
her resolution was not to be shaken,
and that, conscious of the impropriety
of her conduct in having a clandestine
intercourse with a stranger, she would
never repeat the indiscretion.
But alas, poor Charlotte! she knew not
the deceitfulness of her own heart, or
she would have avoided the trial of her
Montraville was tender, eloquent, ar-
dent, and yet respectful.
" Shall I not see you once more," said
he, " before I leave England? Willyou
not bless me by an assurance that, when
we are divided by a vast expanse of sea,
I shall not be forgotten ? "
74 Charlotte Temple.
" Why that sigh, my dear Charlotte ?
Could I flatter myself that a fear for my
safety, or a wish for my welfare occa-
sioned it, how happy it would make
u I shall ever wish you well, Montra-
ville," said she, ' k but we must meet no
" Oh, say not so, my lovely girl ! Re-
flect that when I leave my native land,
perhaps a few short weeks may termi-
nate my existence ; the perils of the
ocean — the dangers of war "
" I can hear no more," said Charlotte,
in a tremulous voice. " I must leave
" Say you will see me once again."
" I dare not," said she.
ft Only for one half hour to-morrow
evening; 'tis my last request. I shall
never trouble you again, Charlotte."
"I know not what to say," cried Char-
lotte," struggling to draw lier hand from
him ; " let me leave you now."
"And will you come to-morrow?"
" Perhaps I may," said she.
" Adieu, then. I will live upon that
hope until we meet again."
He kissed her hand.
She sighed an adieu, and catching
hold of mademoiselle's arm, hastily en-
tered the garden gate.
WHEN WE HAVE EXCITED CURIOSITY,
IT IS BUT AX ACT OF GOOD NA-
TURE TO GRATIFY IT.
Moxtraville was the youngest son
of a gentleman of fortune, whose family
being numerous, he was obliged to bring
up his sons to genteel professions, by
the exercise of which they might hope
to raise themselves into notice.
" My daughters," said he, " have been
educated like gentlewomen; and should
I die before they are settled, they must
have some provision made to place them
above the snares and temptations which
vice ever holds out to the elegant, ac-
complished female, wdien oppressed by
the frowns of poverty and the sting of
dependence; my boys, with only moder-
ate incomes, when placed in the church,
at the bar, or in the field, may exert
their talents, make themselves friends,
and raise their fortunes on the basis of
When Montraville chose the profes-
sion of arms, his father presented him
with a commission, and made him a
handsome provision for his private
" Xow, my boy," said he; "go! seek
glory on the field of battle. You have
received from me all I shall ever have
it in my power to bestow; it is certain I
have interest to gain your promotion;
but be assured that that interest shall
never be exerted unless by your future
conduct you deserve it. Remember,
therefore, your success in life depends
entirely upon yourself.
" There is one thing I consider it my
duty to caution you against; the precip-
itancy with which young men frequent-
ly rush into matrimonial engagements,
and by their thoughtlessness draw many
a deserving woman into scenes of pov-
erty and distress.
"A soldier has no business to think
of a wife until his rank is such as to
place him above the fear of bringing
into the world a train of helpless inno-
cents, heirs only to penury and affliction.
" If, indeed, a woman, whose fortune
is sufficient to preserve you in that state
of independence which I would teach
yon to prize, should generously bestow
herself on a young soldier, whose chief
hope of future prosperity depended on
his successes in the field — if such a
woman should offer — every barrier is
removed, and I shall rejoice in a union
which would promise so much felicity.
" But mark me, boy, if, on the con-
trary, you rush into a precipitate union
with a girl of little or no fortune, take
the poor creature from a comfortable
home and kind friends, and plunge her
into all the evils that a narrow income
and increasing family can inflict, I will
leave you to enjoy the blessed fruits of
your rashness, for, by all that is sacred,
neither my interest nor my fortune shall
ever be exerted in your favor.
" I am serious," continued he, " there-
fore imprint. this conversation on your
memory, and let it influence your fu-
ture conduct. Your happiness will al-
ways be dear to me; and I wish to warn
Charlotte Temple. 79
you of a rock on which the peace of
many an honest fellow has been
wrecked; for, believe me, the difficulties
and dangers of the longest winter cam-
paign are much easier to be borne than
the pangs that would seize your heart,
when you beheld the woman of your
choice, the children of your affection,
involved in penury and distress, and re-
flected that it was your own folly and
precipitancy that had been the prime
cause of their suffering."
As this conversation passed but a
few hours before Montraville took leave
of his father, it was deeply impressed
on his mind; when, therefore, Belcour
came with him to the place of assigna-
tion with Charlotte, he directed him to
inquire of the Frenchwoman what were
Miss Temple's expectations in regard to
Mademoiselle informed him, that
though Charlotte's father possessed a
80 Charlotte Temple.
genteel independence, it was by no
means probable that he conld give his
daughter more than a thousand pounds;
and in case she did not marry to his lik-
ing, it was possible he might not give
her a single sou; nor did it appear the
least likely that Mr. Temple would agree
to her union with a young man on the
point of embarking for the seat of war.
Montraville, therefore, concluded it
was impossible he should ever marry
Charlotte Temple : and what end he pro-
posed to himself by continuing the ac-
quaintance he had commenced with her,
he did not at that moment give himself
time to inquire.
CONFLICT OF LOVE AND DUTY.
Almost a week was now gone, and
Charlotte continued every evening to
meet Montraville, and in her heart
every meeting was resolved to be the
last ; but alas ! when Montraville, at
parting, would earnestly entreat one
more interview that treacherous heart
betrayed her, and forgetful of its reso-
lution, pleaded the cause of the enemy
so powerfully, that Charlotte was un-
able to resist. Another and another
meeting succeeded; and so well did
Montraville improve each opportunity,
that the heedless girl at length confessed
no idea could be so painful to her as that
of never seeing him again.
" Then we will never be parted," said
" Ah, Montraville ! " replied Char-
lotte, forcing a smile, " how can it be
avoided? My parents would never con-
sent to our union; and even could they
be brought to approve of it, how could I
bear to be separated from my kind, my
beloved mother? "
" Then you love your parents more
than you do me, Charlotte? "
" I hope I do," said she, blushing and
looking down ; " I hope my affection for
them will ever keep me from infringing
the laws of filial duty."
" Well, Charlotte," said Montraville,
gravely, and letting go her hand, " since
that is the case, I find I have deceived
myself with fallacious hopes. I had
flattered my fond heart that I was dearer
to Charlotte than anything in the world
besides. I thought that you would for
my sake have braved fhe danger of the
ocean — that you would, by your affec-
tion and smiles, have softened the hard-
ships of war; and had it been my fate to
fall, that your tenderness would cheer
the hour of death, and smooth my pass-
age to another world. But farewell,
Charlotte ! I see you never loved me. I
shall now welcome the friendly ball that
deprives me of the sense of my misery."
" Oh, stay, unkind Montraville," cried
she, catching hold of his arm, as he pre-
tended to leave her — stay; and to calm
your fears, I will here protest, that were
it not for the fear of giving pain to the
best of parents, and returning their
kindness with ingratitude, I would fol-
low you through every danger, and in
studying to promote your happiness, in-
sure my own. But I cannot break my
mother's heart, Montraville; I must not
bring the gray hairs of my doting grand-
father with sorrow to the grave, or make
my beloved father perhaps curse the
hour that gave me birth/'
She covered her face with her hands
and burst into tears.
84 Charlotte Temple.
" All these distressing scenes, my dear
Charlotte/' cried Montraville, " are
merely the chimeras of a disturbed
fancy. Your parents might perhaps
grieve at first, but when they heard
from your own hands that you were
with a man of honor, and that it was to
insure your felicity by a union with
him, that you left their protection, they
will, be assured, forgive an error which
love alone occasioned, and when we re-
turn from America, receive you with
open arms and tears of joy."
Belcour and mademoiselle heard this
last speech, and conceiving it a proper
time to throw in their advice and per-
suasions, approached Charlotte, and so
well seconded the entreaties of Montra-
ville, that finding that mademoiselle in-
tended going with Belcour, and feeling
that her own treacherous heart too much
inclined to accompany them, the hap-
less Charlotte consented in an evil hour
Charlotte Temple. 85
that the next evening they would bring
a chaise to the end of the town, and
that she would leave her friends, and
throw herself entirely on the protection
" But should you," said she, looking
earnestly at him, her eyes full of tears,
" should you, forgetful of your prom-
ises, and repenting the engagements you
here voluntarily enter into, forsake and
leave me on a foreign shore "
" Judge not so meanly of me," said
he. " The moment we reach our place
of destination, Hymen shall sanction our
love, and when I forget your goodness
may Heaven forget me! "
" Ah," said Charlotte, leaning on
mademoiselle's arm, as they walked up
the garden together, " I have forgotten
all that I ought to have remembered, in
consenting to this intended elopement."
" You are a strange girl," said mad-
emoiselle; "you never know your own
86 Charlotte Temple.
mind two minutes at a time. Just now
you declared Montraville's happiness
was what you prized most in the world;
and now I suppose you repent having
insured that happiness by agreeing to
accompany him abroad."
" Indeed, I do repent/' replied Char-
lotte, " from my soul ; but while discre-
tion points out the impropriety of my
conduct, inclination urges me on to
"Ruin! fiddlesticks! " said mademois-
elle. " Am not I going with you, and
do I feel any of these qualms? 99
" You do not renounce a tender father
and mother," said Charlotte.
" But I hazard my reputation," re-
plied mademoislle, bridling.
" True," replied Charlotte, " but you
do not feel what I do." She then bade
her good-night, but sleep was a stranger
to her eyes, and the tear of anguish wa-
tered her pillow.
Nature's last, best gift,
Creature in whom excelPd whatever could
To sight or thought be named
Holy, divine! good, amiable and sweet,
How art thou fall'n!
When Charlotte left her restless bed,
her languid eyes and pale cheek discov-
ered to Madame Du Pont the little re-
pose she had tasted.
" My dear child/' said the affection-
ate governess, " what is the cause of the
langor so apparent in your frame? Are
you not well ? "
" Yes, dear madame, very well," re-
plied Charlotte, attempting to smile,
" but I know not how it was, I could not
sleep last night, and my spirits are de-
pressed this morning."
" Come, cheer up, my love," said the
governess ; " I believe I have brought a
cordial to revive them. I have just re-
88 Charlotte Temple.
ceived a letter from your good mamma,
and here is one for yourself."
Charlotte hastily took the letter; it
contained these words:
"As to-morrow is the anniversary of
the happy day that gave my beloved girl
to the anxious wishes of a maternal
heart, I have requested your governess
to let you come home and spend it with
us, and as I know you to be a good, af-
fectionate child, and make it your study
to improve in those branches of educa-
tion which you know will give most
pleasure to your delighted parents, as a
reward for your diligence and attention,
I have prepared an agreeable surprise
for your reception. Your grandfather,
eager to embrace the darling of his aged
heart, will come in the chaise for you;
so hold yourself in readiness to attend
him by nine o'clock. Your dear father
joins in every tender wish for your
health and future felicity which warms
the heart of my dear Charlotte's affec-
" Gracious Heaven! " cried Charlotte,
forgetting where she was, and raising
her streaming eyes as if in earnest sup-
Madame Du Pont was surprised.
" Why these tears, my love ? " said
she. " Why this seeming agitation ? I
thought the letter would have rejoiced,
instead of distressing you."
" It does rejoice me," replied Char- .
lotte, endeavoring at composure ; " but I
was praying for merit to deserve the un-
remitted attentions of the best of par-
" You are right," said Madame Du
Pont, " to ask the assistance of Heaven
that you may continue to deserve their
love. Continue, my dear Charlotte, in
the course you have ever pursued, and
90 Charlotte Temple.
you will insure at once their happiness
and your own."
" Oh ! " cried Charlotte, as her gov-
erness left her, " I have forfeited both
forever. Yet let me reflect; the irre-
vocable step is not yet taken ; it is not yet
too late to recede from the brink of a
precipice from which I can only behold
the dark abyss of ruin, shame and re-
She arose from her seat, and flew to
the apartment of La Rue.
" Oh, mademoiselle," said she, " I am
snatched by a miracle from destruction!
This letter has saved me; it has opened
my eyes to the folly I was so near com-
mitting. I will not go, mademoselle; I
will not wound the hearts of those dear
parents who make my happiness the
whole study of their lives."
" Well," said mademoiselle, " do as
you please, miss, but pray understand
that my resolution is taken, and it is not
in your power to alter it. I shall meet
the gentlemen at the appointed hour,
and shall not be surprised at any out-
rage which Montraville may commit
when he finds himself disappointed. In-
deed, I should not be astonished were he
to come immediately here and reproach
you for your instability in the hearing
of the whole school; and what will be the
consequence? You will bear the odium
of having formed the resolution of elop-
ing, and every girl of spirit will laugh
at your want of fortitude to put it into
execution, while prudes and fools will
load you with reproach and contempt.
You will have lost the confidence of your
parents, incurred their anger and the
scoffs of the world; and what fruit do
you expect to reap from this piece of
heroism, for such, no doubt, you think
it is? You will have the pleasure to re-
flect that you have deceived the man
who adores you, and whom, in your
heart, you prefer to all other men, and
that you are separated from him for-
This eloquent harangue was given
with such volubility that Charlotte did
not find an opportunity to interrupt her
or to offer a single word until the whole
was finished, and then found her ideas
so confused that she knew not what to
At length she determined that she
would go with mademoiselle to the place
of assignation, convince Montraville of
the necessity of adhering to the resolu-
tion of remaining behind, assure him of
her affection, and bid him adieu.
Charlotte formed this plan in her
head, and exulted at the certainty of its
" How shall I rejoice," said she, " in
this triumph of reason over inclination;
and when in the arms of my affectionate
parents, I lift up my soul in gratitude
Charlotte Temple. 93
to Heaven as I look back on the dangers
I have escaped ! "
The hour of assignation arrived;
mademoiselle put what money and val-
uables she possessed in her pocket, and
advised Charlotte to do the same, but she
refused. " My resolution is fixed,"
said she; "I will sacrifice love to duty."
Mademoiselle smiled internally; and
they proceeded softly down the back
stairs and out of the garden gate. Mon-
traville and Belcour were ready to re-
" Now," said Montraville, taking
Charlotte in his arms, " you are mine
" No," said she, withdrawing from his
embrace ; "I am come to take an ever-
It would be useless to repeat the con-
versation that here ensued; suffice it to
say, that Montraville used every argu-
ment that had formerly been successful,
94 Charlotte Temple.
Charlotte's resolution began to waver,
and he drew her almost imperceptibly
toward the chaise.
" I cannot go/' said she, " cease, dear
Montraville, to persuade. I must not —
religion, duty, forbid."
" Cruel Charlotte ! " said he, " if you
disappoint my ardent hopes, by all that is
sacred! this hand shall put a period to
my existence. I cannot — will not —
live without you."
"Alas! my torn heart," said Char-
lotte, " how shall I act ? "
" Let me direct you," said Montra-
ville, lifting her into the chaise.
" Oh, my dear, forsaken parents ! "
The chaise drove off. She shrieked
and fainted in the arms of her betrayer.
" What pleasure ! " cried Mr. El-
dridge, as he stepped into the chaise to
go for his granddaughter, " what pleas-
ure expands the heart of an old man
when he beholds the progeny of a be-
loved child growing up in every virtue
that adorned the minds of her parents.
I foolishly thought, some few years
since, that every sense of joy was buried
in the grave of my dear partner and my
son, but my Lucy, by her filial affection,
soothed my soul to peace, and this dear
Charlotte has entwined herself around
my heart, and opened such new scenes
of delight to my view that I almost for-
get that I have ever been unhappy."
When the chaise stopped he alighted
with the alacrity of youth, so much do
96 Charlotte Temple.
the emotions of the soul influence the
It was half-past eight o'clock; the la-
dies were assembled in the school-room,
and Madame Du Pont was preparing to
offer the morning sacrifice of prayer and
praise, when it was discovered that made-
moiselle and Charlotte were missing.
" She is busy, no doubt," said the gov-
erness, " in preparing Charlotte for her
little excursion; but pleasure should
never make us forget our duty to our
Creator Go, one of you, and bid them
both attend prayers."
The lady who went to summon them
soon returned, and informed the gover-
ness that the room was locked, and that
she had knocked repeatedly, but received
" Good Heaven ! " cried Madame Du
Pont, " this is very strange ; " and turn-
ing pale with terror, she went hastily to
the door, and ordered it to be forced
open. The apartment instantly dis-
closed the fact that no person had been
in it the preceding night, the beds ap-
pearing as though just made. The
house was instantly a scene of confusion ;
the garden, the pleasure grounds, were
searched to no purpose; every apartment
rung with the names of Miss Temple and
mademoiselle; but they were too distant
to hear; and every face wore the marks
Mr. Eldridge was sitting in the par-
lor, eagerly expecting his granddaughter
to descend, ready equipped for her jour-
ney; he heard the confusion that reigned
in the house — he heard the name of
Charlotte frequently repeated.
" What can be the matter ? " said he,
rising, and opening the door ; " I fear
some accident has befallen my dear girl."
The governess entered. The visible
agitation of her countenance discovered
that something extraordinary had hap-
98 Charlotte Temple.
" Where is Charlotte % " said he.
u Why does not my child come to wel-
come her doting parent ? "
" Be composed, my dear sir," said
Madame Du Pont ; " do not frighten
yourself nnnecessarily. She is not in
the house at present ; but as mademoiselle
is undoubtedly with her, she will speed-
ily return in safety, and I hope they will
both be able to account for this unsea-
sonable absence in such a manner as
shall remove our present uneasiness. "
" Madame," cried the old man, with
an angry look, " has my child been ac-
customed to go out without leave, with
no other company or protector than that
French-woman? Pardon me, madame,
I mean no reflection on your country,
but I never did like Mademoiselle La
Rue; I think she is a very improper per-
son to be intrusted with the care of such
a girl as Charlotte Temple, or to be suf-
fered to take her from under your im-
Charlotte Temple. 99
" You wrong me, Mr. Eldridge," said
she, " if you suppose I have ever per-
mitted your granddaughter to go out,
unless with the other ladies. I would to
Heaven I could form any probable con-
jecture concerning her absence this
morning, but it is a mystery to me,
which her return can alone unravel."
Servants were now dispatched to every
place where there was the least hope of
hearing any tidings of the fugitives, but
Dreadful were the hours of horrid
suspense which Mr. Eldridge passed till
twelve o'clock, when the suspense was
reduced to a shocking certainty, and ev-
ery spark of hope, which till then they
had indulged, was in a moment extin-
Mr. Eldridge was preparing, with a
heavy heart, to return to his anxiously-
expecting children, when Madame Du
Pont received the following note, with-
out either name or date:
100 Charlotte Temple.
" Miss Temple is well, and wishes to
relieve the anxiety of her parents, by let-
ting them know she has voluntarily put
herself under the protection of a man
whose future study shall be to make her
happy. Pursuit is needless; the meas-
ures taken to avoid discovery are too ef-
fectual to be eluded. When she thinks
her friends are reconciled to this pre-
cipitate step, they may, perhaps, be in-
formed of her place of residence. Made-
moiselle is with her."
As Mademoiselle Du Pont read these
cruel lines, she turned as pale as ashes,
her limbs trembled, and she was forced
to call for a glass of water. She loved
Charlotte truly; and when she reflected
on the innocence and gentleness of hei
disposition, she concluded it must have
been the advice and machinations of La
Rue which led her to this imprudent ac-
tion ; she recollected her agitation on the
receipt of her mother's letter, and saw
in it the conflict of her mind.
Charlotte Temple. 101
" Does the letter relate to Charlotte? "
said Mr. Eldridge, having waited some
time in expectation of Madame Du
It does," she said. " Charlotte is
well, but cannot return to-day."
" Xot return, madame! Where is she?
Who will detain her from her fond, ex-
pecting parents ? "
" You distract me with these ques-
tions, Mr. Eldridge. Indeed, I do not
know where she is, or who has seduced
her from her duty."
The whole truth now rushed at once
upon Mr. Eldridge's mind
" She has eloped, then," said he; " my
child is betrayed; the darling, the com-
fort of my aged heart is lost ! Oh, would
to heaven I had died but yesterday."
A violent gush of grief in some meas-
ure relieved him, and after several vain
attempts, he at length assumed sufficient
composure to read the note.
102 Charlotte Temple.
"And how shall I return to my chil-
dren ? " said he. " How approach that
mansion so late the habitation of peace?
Alas! my clear Lucy, how will you sup-
port these heart-rending tidings? or how
shall I be enabled to console you, who
need so much consolation myself ? "
The old man returned to the chaise,
but the light step and cheerful counten-
ance were no more; sorrow filled his
heart and guided his emotions.
He seated himself in the chaise; his
venerable head reclined upon his bosom,
his hands were folded, his eyes fixed on
vacancy, and the large drops of sorrow
rolled silently down his cheeks.
There was a mixture of anguish and
resignation depicted in his countenance,
as if he should say:
" Henceforth, who shall dare to boast
his happiness, or even in idea contem-
plate its treasure, lest in the very mo-
ment his heart is exulting in his own
Charlotte Temple. 103
felicity, the object which constitutes that
felicity should be torn from him ? "
Slow and heavy passed the time while
the carriage was conveying Mr. Eldridge
home ; and yet, when he came in sight of
the house, he wished a long reprieve
from the dreadful task of informing Mr.
and Mrs. Temple of their daughter's
It is easy to judge the anxiety of these
affectionate parents, when they found
the return of their father delayed so
much beyond the expected time.
They were now met in the dining-
parlor, and several of the young people
who had been invited were already ar-
104 Charlotte Temple.
Each different part of the company
was employed in the same manner —
looking out at the windows which faced
At length the long-expected chaise ap-
Mrs. Temple ran out to receive and
welcome her darling — her young com-
panions flocked around the door, each
one eager to give her joy on the return
of her birthday.
The door of the chaise was opened.
Charlotte was not there.
" Where is my child ? " cried Mrs.
Temple, in breathless agitation.
Mr. Eldridge could not answer; he
took hold of his daughter's hand and led
her into the house, and sinking on the
first chair he came to, he burst into tears,
and sobbed aloud.
" She is dead ! " cried Mrs. Temple.
" Oh, my dear Charlotte ? " and, clasp-
ing her hands in an agony of distress,
fell into strong hysterics.
Charlotte Temple. 105
Mr. Temple, who had stood speechless
with surprise and fear, now ventured to
inquire if indeed his Charlotte was no
Mr. Eldridge led him into another
apartment, and putting the fatal note
into his hand, cried: "Bear it like a
Christian ! " and turned from him, en-
deavoring to suppress his own too visible
It would be vain to attempt describing
what Mr. Temple felt while he hastily
ran over the dreadful lines. When he
had finished, the paper dropped from his
" Gracious Heaven ! " said he, " could
Charlotte act thus ? "
X either tear nor sigh escaped him,
and he sat the image of mute sorrow, till
aroused from his stupor by the repeated
shrieks of Mrs. Temple.
He arose hastily, and rushing into the
apartment where she was, folded his
106 Charlotte Temple.
arms about her, and saying, " Let us be
patient, my dear Lucy," nature relieved
his almost bursting heart by a friendly
gush of tears.
Should any one, presuming on his
own philosophic temper, look with an
eye of contempt on a man who could in-
dulge in a woman's weakness, let him
remember that that man was a father,
and he will then pity the misery which
wrung those drops from a noble and gen-
Mrs. Temple, beginning to be a lit-
tle more composed, but still imagining
her child to be dead, her husband, gently
taking her hand, cried:
" You are mistaken, my love. Char-
lotte is not dead."
" Then she is very ill ; else why did
she not come? But I will go to her;
the chaise is still at the door; let me go
instantly to the dear girl. If I was ill,
she would fly to attend me, to alleviate
Charlotte Temple. 107
my sufferings, and cheer me with her
" Be calm, my dearest Lucy, and T
will tell you all," said Mr. Temple.
" You must not go ; indeed you must not ;
it will be of no use."
" Temple," said she, assuming a look
of firmness and composure, " tell me the
truth, I beseech you ! I cannot bear this
dreadful suspense. What misfortune
has befallen my child? Let me know
the worst, I will endeavor to bear it as I
" Lucy," said Mr. Temple, " imagine
your daughter alive, and in no danger of
death, what misfortune would you then
dread ? "
" There is one misfortune that is
worse than death. But I know my child
too well to suspect "
" Be not too confident, Lucy."
" Oh, Heaven ! " said she, " what hor-
rid images do you start? Is it possible
that she should forget ? "
108 Charlotte Temple.
"She has forgotten us all, my love;
she has preferred the love of a stranger
to the affectionate protection of her
" Not eloped ! " cried she, eagerly.
Mr. Temple was silent.
" Yon cannot contradict," said she.
" I see my fate in those tearful eyes. Oh,
Charlotte — Charlotte! how ill you have
requited our tenderness. But, Father of
Mercies," continued she, sinking on her
knees and raising her streaming eyes and
clasped hands to Heaven, " this once
vouchsafe to hear a fond, distracted
mother's prayer. Oh, let thy bounteous
Providence watch over the dear,
thoughtless girl, save her from the mis-
eries which I fear will be her portion;
and, oh! of Thine infinite mercy, make
her not a mother, lest she should some
day feel what I now suffer ! "
The last words faltered on her tongue,
and she fell fainting into the arms of
Charlotte Temple. 101)
her husband, who had voluntarily
dropped on his knees beside her.
A mother's anguish, when disappoint-
ed in her tenderest hopes, none but a
mother can conceive. Yet, my dear
young readers, I would have you read
this scene with attention, and reflect that
you may yourselves one day be mothers.
Oh, my friends, as you value your
eternal happiness, wound not, by
thoughtless ingratitude, the peace of the
mother who bore you. Kemember the
tenderness, the care, and unremitting
anxiety with which she has attended to
all your wants and wishes from earliest
infancy to the present clay. Behold the
mild ray of affectionate applause that
beams from her eye on the performance
of your duty ; listen to her reproofs with
silent attention; they proceed from a
heart anxious for your future felicity;
you must love her; nature, all-powerful
nature, has placed the seeds of filial affec-
tion in your bosoms.
110 Charlotte Temple.
Then, once more read over the sor-
rows of poor Mrs. Temple; remember,
the mother whom you so dearly love and
venerate will feel the same, should you,
forgetful of the respect due to your
Maker and yourself, forsake the paths of
virtue, for those of vice and folly.
It was with the utmost difficulty that
the united efforts of mademoiselle and
Montraville could support Charlotte's
spirits during their short ride from Chi-
chester to Portsmouth, where a boat
waited to take them immediately on
board the ship in which they were about
to embark for America.
As soon as she became tolerably com-
Charlotte Temple. Ill
posed, she entreated pen and ink to write
to her parents. This she did in the most
affecting, artless manner, entreating
their pardon and blessing, and describing
the dreadful situation of her mind, the
conflict she suffered in endeavoring to
conquer this unfortunate attachment,
and concluded with saying her only hope
of future comfort consisted in the (per-
haps delusive) idea she indulged, of be-
ing once more folded in their protecting
arms, and hearing the words of peace and
pardon from their lips.
The tears streamed incessantly while
she was writing, and she was frequently
obliged to lay down her pen; but when
the task was completed, and she had com-
mitted the letter to the care of Montra-
ville, to be sent to the postofflce, she be-
came more calm, and indulging the de-
lightful hope of soon receiving an answer
that would seal her pardon, she in some
measure assumed her usual cheerfulness.
112 Charlotte Temple.
But Montraville knew too well the
consequences that must unavoidably en-
sue should this letter reach Mr. Temple;
he, therefore, craftily resolved to walk
on the deck, tear it to pieces, and com-
mit the fragments to the care of Nep-
tune, who might or might not, as it suit-
ed his convenience, convey them on
All Charlotte's hopes and wishes were
now centered in one, namely, that the
fleet be detained at Spithead till she
might receive a letter from her friends;
but in this she was disappointed, for the
second morning after she went on board
the signal was made, the fleet weighed
anchor, and in a few hours, the wind be-
ing favorable, they bade adieu to the
white cliffs of Albion.
In the meantime every inquiry that
could be thought of was made by Mr.
and Mrs. Temple; for many days did
they indulge the fond hope that she was
merely gone off to be married, and that
when the indissoluble knot was once tied,
she would return with the partner she
had chosen and entreat their blessing and
"And shall we not forgive her ? " said
" Forgive her ! " exclaimed the moth-
er. "Oh! yes; whatever be her errors,
is she not our child? And though bow-
ed even to the earth with shame and re-
morse, is it not our duty to raise the poor
penitent and whisper peace and comfort
to her desponding :oul ? "Would she but
return, with rapture would I fold her to
my heart and bury every remembrance
of her faults in the dear embrace."
But still, day after day passed on and
Charlotte did not appear, nor were any
tidings to be heard of her; yet each ris-
ing morning was welcomed by some new
hope. The evening brought with it dis-
appointment. At length hope was no
114 Charlotte Temple.
more, despair usurped her place, and the
mansion that was once the mansion of
peace became the habitation of pale, de-
The cheerful smile that was wont to
adorn the face of Mrs. Temple was fled,
and had it not been for the support of
unaffected piety, and a consciousness of
having ever set before her child the fair-
est example, she must have sunk under
this heavy affliction.
" Since," said she, " the severest scru-
tiny cannot charge me with any breach
of duty, to have deserved this severe
chastisement, I will bow before the
Power who inflicts it with humble resig-
nation to His will, nor shall the duty of
a wife be totally absorbed in the feelings
of the mother; I will endeavor to seem
more cheerful, and by appearing in some
measure to have conquered my own sor-
row, alleviate the sufferings of my hus-
band, and arouse him from the torpor
Charlotte Temple. 115
into which this misfortune has plunged
him. My father, too, demands my care
and attention. I must not, by a selfish
indulgence of my own grief, forget the
interest those two dear objects take in
my happiness or misery. I will wear a
smile on my face, though the thorn
rankles in my heart, and if by so doing,
I contribute in the smallest degree to re-
store their peace of mind, I shall be am-
ply rewarded for the pain the conceal-
ment of my own feelings may occasion."
Thus argued this excellent woman,
and in the execution of so laudable a
resolution, we shall leave her to follow
the fortunes of the hapless victim of im-
prudence and evil counselors.
Ox board of the ship on which Char-
lotte and mademoiselle were embarked,
was an officer of large, unencumbered
fortune and elevated rank, and whom I
shall call Crayton.
He was one of those men who, having
traveled in their youth, pretend to have
contracted a peculiar fondness for every-
thing foreign, and to hold in contempt
the productions of their own country,
and this affected partiality extended even
to the women.
With him, therefore, the blushing
modesty and unaffected simplicity of
Charlotte passed unnoticed, but the for-
ward pertness of La Rue, the freedom of
her conversation, the elegance of her per-
Charlotte Temple. 117
son, mixed with a certain engaging je
ne sais quoi, perfectly enchanted him.
The reader, no doubt, has already de-
veloped the character of La Rue; de-
signing, artful and selfish, she accepted
the devoirs of Belcour because she was
heartily weary of the retired life she led
at the school, wished to be released from
what she deemed a slavery, and to re-
turn to that vortex of folly and dissipa-
tion, which had once plunged her into
the deepest misery; but her plan, she
flattered herself, was now better formed ;
she resolved to put herself under the pro-
tection of no man, till she had first se-
cured a settlement; but the clandestine
manner in which she left Madame Du
Pont's prevented her putting this plan
into execution, though Belcour solemn-
ly protested he would make her a hand-
some settlement the moment they arrived
at Portsmouth. This he afterward con-
trived to evade by a pretended hurry of
business. La Rue, readily conceiving
118 Charlotte Temple.
he never meant to fulfill his promise, de-
termined to change her battery, and at-
tack the heart of Colonel Crayton. She
soon discovered the partiality he enter-
tained for her nation, and having impos-
ed on him a feigned tale of distress,
represented Belcour as a villain who had
seduced her from her friends under the
promise of marriage, and afterward be-
trayed her; pretending great remorse for
the errors she had committed, and de-
claring that, whatever her affection
might have been, it was now entirely
extinguished, and she wished for noth-
ing more than an opportunity to leave a
course of life which her soul abhorred;
but she had no friends to apply to; they
had all renounced her, and guilt and
misery would undoubtedly be her future
portion through life.
Crayton was possessed of many ami-
able qualities, though the peculiar trait
in his character, which we have already
Charlotte Temple. 119
mentioned, in a great measure threw a
shade over them. He was beloved for his
humanity and benevolence by all who
him, but he was easy and unsuspicious
himself, and became a dupe to the arti-
fice of others.
He was, when very young, united to
an amiable Parisian lady, and perhaps
it was his affection for her that laid the
foundation for the partiality he ever re-
tained for the whole nation. He had by
her one daughter, who entered into the
world but a few hours before her mother
left it. This lady was universally be-
loved and admired, being endowed with
all the virtues of her mother, without the
weakness of her father. She was mar-
ried to Major Beauchamp, and was at
this time in the fleet with her father, at-
tending her husband to New York.
Crayton was melted by the affected
contrition and distress of La Hue; he
would converse with her for hours, read
120 Charlotte Temple.
to her, play cards with her, listen to all
her complaints, and promise to protect
her to the utmost of his power. La Rue
easily saw his character ; her sole aim was
to awaken a passion in his bosom that
might turn out to her advantage, and in
this aim she was but too successful; for,
before the voyage was finished, the in-
fatuated colonel gave her from under his
hand a promise of marriage on their ar-
rival at New York, under forfeiture of
five thousand pounds.
And how did our poor Charlotte pass
her time during a tedious and tempest-
uous passage? Naturally delicate, the
fatigue and sickness she endured ren-
dered her so weak as to be almost entire-
ly confined to her bed; yet the kindness
and attention of Montraville, in some
measure contributed to alleviate her suf-
ferings, and the hope of hearing from
her friends soon after their arrival, kept
up her spirits, and cheered many a
Charlotte Temple. 121
But during the voyage a great revolu-
tion took place, not only in the fortune
of La Rue, but in the bosom of Belcour.
While in the pursuit of his amour with
mademoiselle, he had attended little to
the interesting, unobtrusive charms of
Charlotte; but when, cloyed by posses-
sion, and disgusted with the art and dis-
simulation of the one, he beheld the sim-
plicity and gentleness of the other, the
contract became too striking not to fill
him at once with surprise and admira-
tion. He frequently conversed with
Charlotte; he found her sensible, well
informed, but diffident and unassuming.
The langor which the fatigue of her
body and perturbation of her mind
spread over her delicate features, served
only, in his opinion, to render her more
lovely; he knew that Montraville did noi:
design to marry her, and he formed a
resolution to endeavor to gain her him-
self, whenever Montraville should leave
Let not the reader imagine Belcour's
designs were honorable. Alas! when
once a woman has forgot the respect due
to herself by yielding to the solicitations
of illicit, love, she loses all the conse-
quence, even in the eyes of the man
whose art has betrayed her, and for
whose sake she has sacrificed every
The heedless Fair, who stoops to guilty joys,
A man may pity — but he must despise.
Nay, every libertine will think he has
a right to insult her with his licentious
passions; and should the unhappy creat-
ure shrink from the insolent overture, lie
will sneeringly taunt her with pretense
On the day before their arrival at New
York, after dinner, Crayton arose from
his seat, and placing himself by made-
moiselle, thus addressed the company:
"As we have nearly arrived at our des-
tined port, I think it but my duty to in-
form you, my friends, that this lady,"
(taking her hand) " has placed herself
under my protection. I have seen and
severely felt the anguish of her heart,
and through every shade which cruelty
or malice may throw over her, can dis-
cover the most amiable qualities. I
thought it but necessary to mention my
esteem for her before our disembarka-
tion, as it is my fixed resolution, the
morning after we land, to give her an
undoubted title to my favor and protec-
124 Charlotte Temple.
tion by honorably uniting my fate to
hers. I would wish svery gentleman
hence, therefore, to remember that her
honor henceforth is mine; and," con-
tinued he, looking at iBelcour, " should
any man presume to speak in the least
disrespectfully of her, I shall not hesi-
tate to pronounce him a scoundrel."
Belcour cast at him a smile of con-
tempt, and bowed profoundly low; he
wished mademoiselle much joy in the
proposed union; and assured the colonel
that he need not be in the least appre-
hensive of any one throwing the least
odium on the character of his lady, shook
him by the hand with ridiculous gravity,
and left the cabin.
The truth was, he was glad to get rid
of La Rue, and so he was but freed from
her, he cared not who fell a victim to
her infamous arts.
The inexperienced Charlotte was as-
tonished at what she heard. She thought
Charlotte Temple. 125
La Rue had, like herself, only been
urged by the force of her attachment to
Belcour, to quit her friends, and follow
him to the seat of war. How wonder-
ful, then, that she should resolve to
marry another man! It was certainly
extremely wrong. It was indelicate.
She mentioned her thoughts to Montra-
ville. He laughed at her simplicity,
called her a little idiot, and patting her
on the cheek, said she knew nothing of
" If the world sanctions such things,
'tis a very bad world, I think," said
Charlotte. " Why, I always understood
that they were to have been married
when they arrived at New York. I am
sure Mademoiselle told me Belcour
promised to marry her.
" Well, and suppose he did ? "
" Why, he should be obliged to keep
his word, I think."
" Well, but I suppose he has changed
126 Charlotte Temple.
his mind," said Montraville, " and then,
you know, the case is altered."
Charlotte looked at him attentively
for a moment. A full sense of her own
situation rushed upon her own mind.
She burst into tears, and remained silent.
Montraville too well understood the
cause of her tears. He kissed her cheek,
and bidding her not to make herself un-
easy, unable to bear the silent but keen
remonstrance, hastily left her.
The next morning by sunrise they
found themselves at anchor before the
city of Xew York. A boat was ordered
to convey the ladies on shore. Crayton
accompanied them, and they were shown
to a house of public entertainment.
Scarcely were they seated, when the door
opened and the colonel found himself in
the arms of his daughter, who had land-
ed a few minutes before him. The first
transport of meeting subsided, Crayton
introduced his daughter to Mademoiselle
Charlotte Temple. 127
La Rue as an old friend of her mother's
(for the artful Frenchwoman had really
made it appear to the credulous colonel
that she was in the same convent as his
first wife, and though much younger,
had received many tokens of her esteem
" If, mademoiselle," said Mrs. Beau-
champ, " you were the friend of my
mother, you must be worthy the esteem
of all good hearts."
" Mademoiselle will soon honor our
family," said Crayton, " by supplying
the place that valuable woman filled;
and as you are married, my dear, I think
you will not blame "
" Hush, my dear sir," replied Mrs.
Beauchamp. " I know my duty too well
to scrutinize your conduct. Be assured,
my dear father, your happiness is mine.
I shall rejoice in it. But tell me," con-
tinued she, turning to Charlotte, " who
is this lovely girl? Is she your sister,
mademoiselle ? "
128 Charlotte Temple.
A blush, deep as the glow of the car-
nation, suffused the cheek of Charlotte.
" It is a young lady," replied the
colonel, " who came in the same vessel
with us from England."
• He then drew his daughter aside and
told her in a whisper, that Charlotte was
the mistress of Montraville.
" What a pity ! " said Mrs. Beau-
champ, softly, casting a most compas-
sionate glance at her. " But surely her
mind is not depraved. The goodness of
her heart is depicted in her ingenuous
Charlotte caught the word pity.
"And am I already fallen so low ? "
said she. A sigh escaped her, and a tear
was ready to start, but Montraville ap-
peared, and she checked the rising emo-
tion. Mademoiselle went with the colo-
nel and his daughter to another apart-
ment. Charlotte remained with Mon-
traville and Belcour. The next morn-
Charlotte Temple. 129
ing the colonel performed his promise,
and La Rue became in due form Mrs.
Crayton, exulted in her good fortune,
and dared to look with an eye of con-
tempt on the unfortunate but far less
"And am I indeed fallen so low," said
Charlotte, " as to be only pitied ? Will
the voice of approbation no more meet
my ear ? And shall I never again pos-
sess a friend whose face will wear a smile
of joy whenever I approach? Alas! how
thoughtless, how dreadfully imprudent
have I been! I know not which is the
most painful to endure — the sneer of
contempt, or the glance of compassion
130 Charlotte Temple.
which is depicted on the various coun-
tenances of my own sex; they are both
equally humiliating. Ah ! my dear par-
ents, could you now see the child of your
affections, the daughter whom you so
dearly loved, a poor, solitary being, with-
out society, here wearing out her heavy
hours in deep regret and anguish of
heart — no kind friend of her owm sex to
whom she can unbosom her griefs, no be-
loved mother, no woman of character to
appear in her company; and low as your
Charlotte is fallen, she cannot associate
These w T ere the painful reflections
which occupied the mind of Charlotte.
Montraville had placed her in a small
house a few miles from ^'ew York. He
gave her one female attendant, and sup-
plied her with what money she wanted;
but business and pleasure so entirely oc-
cupied his time, that he had but little to
devote to the woman wdiom he had
Charlotte Temple. 131
brought from all her connections, and
robbed of innocence. Sometimes, in-
deed, he would steal out at the close of
the evening, and pass a few hours with
her. And then, so much was she attach-
ed to him, that all her sorrows were for-
gotten while blessed with his society.
She would enjoy a walk by moonlight,
or sit by him in a little arbor at the bot-
tom of the garden, and play on the harp,
accompanying it with her plaintive, har-
monious voice. But often, very often,
did he promise to renew his visits, and
forgetful of his promise, leave her to
mourn her disappointment. What pain-
ful hours of expectation would she pass!
She would sit at a window which looked
toward a field he used to cross, counting
the minutes and straining her eyes to
catch the first glimpse of his person, till,
blinded with tears of disappointment,
she would lean her head on her hands,
and give free vent to her sorrow; then
132 Charlotte Temple.
catching at some new hope, she would
again renew her watchful position till
the shades of evening enveloped every
object in a dusky cloud; she would then
renew her complaints, and, with a heart
bursting with disappointed love and
w r ounded sensibility, retire to a bed
which remorse had strewed with thorns,
and court in vain that comforter of
weary nature (who seldom visits the un-
happy) to come and steep her senses in
Who can form an adequate idea of the
sorrow that preyed upon the mind of
Charlotte? The wife, whose breast
glows with affection for her husband,
and who in return meets only indiffer-
ence, can but faintly conceive her an-
Dreadfully painful is the situation of
such a woman; but she has many com-
forts of which our poor Charlotte was
deprived. The duteous, faithful wife,
Charlotte Temple. 133
though treated with indifference, has one
solid pleasure within her own bosom;
she can reflect that she has not deserved
neglect — that she has ever fulfilled the
duties of her station with the strictest ex-
actness; she may hope by constant as-
siduity and unremitted attention to re-
call her wanderer, and be doubly happy
in his returning affection; she knows he
cannot leave her to unite himself to an-
other; he cannot cast her out to poverty
She looks around and sees the smile
of friendly welcome or the tear of affec-
tionate consolation on the face of every
person whom she favors with her es-
teem, and from all these circumstances
she gathers comfort; but the poor girl
by thoughtless passion led astray, who,
in parting with honor, has forfeited the
esteem of the very man to whom she has
sacrificed everything dear and valuable
in life, feels his indifference to be the
134 Charlotte Temple.
fruit of her own folly, and laments the
want of power to recall his lost affec-
tions; she knows that there is no tie but
honor, and that, in a man who has been
guilty of seduction, is but very feeble;
he may leave her in a moment of shame
and want; he may marry and forsake her
forever, and should he do so, she has no
redress, no friendly, soothing companion
to pour into her mind the balm of con-
solation, no benevolent hand to lead her
back to the path of rectitude; she has
disgraced her friends, forfeited the good
opinion of the world, and undone her-
She feels herself like a poor solitary
being in the midst of surrounding multi-
tudes; shame bows her to the earth, re-
morse tears her distracted mind, and
guilt, poverty and disease close the
dreadful scene; she sinks unnoticed to
The finger of contempt may point out
to some passing daughter of youthful
mirth the humble bed where lies this
frail sister of mortality.
And will she, in the unbounded
gayety of heart, exult in her unblem-
ished fame and triumph over the silent
ashes of the dead?
Oh, no; she has a heart of sensibility;
she will stop and thus address the un-
happy victim of folly :
" Thou hast thy faults; but surely thy
sufferings have expatiated them; thy er-
rors brought thee to an early grave; but
thou wert a fellow-creature — thou hast
been unhappy — then be those errors for-
Then, as she stoops to pick the nox-
ious weed from off the sod, a tear will
fall and consecrate the spot to Charity.
Forever honored be the sacred drop of
humanity; the angel of mercy shall
record its source, and the soul from
whence it sprung shall be immortal.
My dear madam, contract not your
brow into a frown of disapprobation. I
mean not to extenuate the faults of those
unhappy women who fall victims of
guilt and folly; but surely, when w T e re-
£ect how many errors we ourselves are
subject to, how many secret faults lie
liidden in the recesses of our hearts,
which we would blush to have brought
Into open day, and yet those faults re-
quire the lenity and pity of a benevolent
judge, or awful w r ould be our prospect
of futurity. I say, my dear madam,
Avhen we consider this, we surely may
pity the faults of others.
Believe me, many an unfortunate fe-
male, who has once strayed into the
thorny paths of vice, would gladly re-
turn to virtue were any generous friend
to endeavor to raise and reassure her;
but alas! it cannot be, you say, the
world would deride and scoff*.
Then let me tell you, madam, it is a
Charlotte Temple. 137
very unfeeling world, and does not de-
serve half the blessings which a bounti-
ful Providence showers upon it.
Oh, thou benevolent Giver of all good !
how shall we erring mortals dare to look
up to thy mercy in the great day of re-
tribution, if we now uncharitably refuse
to overlook the errors, or alleviate the
miseries of our fellow creatures!
A MISTAKE DISCOVERED.
Julia Franklin was the only child
of a man of large property, who left her
independent mistress of an unencum-
bered income of seven hundred a year,
at the age of eighteen; she was a girl of
lively disposition, and humane, suscep-
tible heart. She resided In New York
with an uncle who loved her too well,
and had too high an opinion of her pru-
dence, to scrutinize her actions so much
as would have been necessary with many
young ladies who were not blest with
her discretion. She was, at the time
Montraville arrived at New York, the
life of society, and the universal toast.
Montraville was introduced to her by the
following accident :
One night when he was upon guard,
a dreadful fire broke out near Mr. Frank-
lin's house, which in a few hours reduced
that and several others to ashes; fortun-
ately no lives were lost, and by the as-
siduity of the soldiers much valuable
property was saved from the flames. In
the midst of the confusion an old gentle-
man came up to Montraville, and putting
a small box into his hands, cried: " Keep
it, my good sir, till I come to you'
again; " and then rushed again into the
thickest of the crowd; Montraville saw
him no more.
He waited till the fire was quite ex-
tinguished, and the mob dispersed, but
in vain; the old gentleman did not ap-
pear to claim his property; and Montra-
ville, fearing to make an inquiry, lest
he should meet with impostors who
might lay claim without any legal right
to the box, carried it to his lodgings, and
locked it up; he naturally imagined that
the person who committed it to his care
knew him, and would in a day or two re-
claim it; but several w T eeks passed on,
and no inquiry being made, he began to
be uneasy, and resolved to examine the
contents of the box, and if they were, as
he supposed, valuable, to spare no pains
to discover the owner, and restore them
to him. Upon opening it, he found it
contained jewels to a large amount,
about two hundred pounds in money,,
and a miniature picture set for a brace-
let. On examining the picture, he
thought he had somewhere seen features
140 Charlotte Temple.
very like it, but could not recollect
where. A few days after, being at a
public assembly, he saw ZMiss Franklin,
and the likeness was too evident to be
mistaken; he inquired among his brother
officers if any of them knew her, and
found one who was upon terms of in-
timacy with the family. " Then intro-
duce me to her immediately/ said he,
u for I am certain I can inform her of
something which will give her particular
He w 7 as immediately introduced,
found she was the owner of the jewels,
and was invited to breakfast the next
morning, in order to restore them. The
whole evening Montraville was honored
with Julia's hand; the lively sallies of
her wit, the elegance of her manner,
powerfully charmed him; he forgot
Charlotte, and indulged himself in say-
ing everything that was polite and ten-
der to Julia. But on retiring, recollec-
Charlotte Temple. 141
tion returned. " What am I about \ "
said he. tk Though I cannot marry Char-
lotte, I cannot be villain enough to for-
sake her, nor must 1 dare to trifile with
the heart of Julia Franklin. I will re-
turn this box," said he, " which has been
the source of so much uneasiness already,
and in the evening pay a visit to my
poor, melancholy Charlotte, and en-
deavor to forget this fascinating Julia."
He arose, dressed himself, and taking
the picture out, " I will reserve this from
the rest," said he, u and by presenting it
to her when she thinks it is lost, enhance
the value of the obligation." He re-
paired to Mr. Franklin's, and found
Julia in the breakfast parlor alone.
" How happy am I, madam," said he,
" that being the fortunate instrument of
saving these jewels, has been the means
of procuring me the acquaintance of so
amiable a lady. There are the jewels
and money all safe."
" But where is the picture, sir ? " said
" Here, madam. I would not willing-
ly part with it."
u It is the portrait of my mother," said
she, taking it from him ; " 'tis all that re-
mains." She pressed it to her lips, and
a tear trembled in her eye. Montraville
glanced his eyes on her gray night-
gown and black ribbon, and his own feel-
ings prevented a reply.
Julia Franklin was the very reverse
of Charlotte Temple; she was tall, ele-
gantly shaped, and possessed much of the
air and manner of a woman of fashion;
her complexion was a clear brown, enliv-
ened with the glow of 'health ; her eyes,
full, black, and sparkling, darted their
intelligent glances through long silken
lashes; her hair was shining brown, and
her features regular and striking; there
was an air of innocent gayety that played
about her countenance where good-
humor sat triumphant.
" I have mistaken/' said Montraville.
"I imagined I loved Charlotte; but,
alas! I am too late convinced my attach-
ment to her was merely the impulse of
the moment. I fear I have not only en-
tailed lasting misery on that poor girl,
but also thrown a barrier in the way of
my own happiness which it will be im-
possible to surmount. I feel I love
Julia Franklin with ardor and sincerity;
yet, when in her presence, I am sensible
of my own inability to offer a heart
worthy her acceptance, and remain si-
Full of these painful thoughts, Mon-
traville walked out to see Charlotte. She
saw him approaching, and ran out to
meet him. She banished from her
countenance the air of discontent, which
ever appeared when he was absent, and
met him with a smile of joy.
" I thought you had forgotten me,
Montraville," said she, " and was very
144 Charlotte Temple.
" I shall never forget you, Charlotte,"
he replied, pressing her hand.
The uncommon gravity of his coun-
tenance and the brevity of his reply
" You are not well," said she ; " your
hand it hot ; your eyes are heavy ; you are
" I am a villain," said he mentally, as
he turned from her to hide his emotion.
" But come," continued she, tenderly,
" you shall go to bed, and I will sit by
and watch you; you shall be better when
you have slept."
Montraville was glad to retire, and by
pretending to sleep, conceal the agitation
of his mind from her penetrating eye.
Charlotte watched him until a late hour,
and then, lying softly down by his side,
sunk into a profound sleep, from which
she awoke not till late the next morning.
" Virtue never appears so amiable as when
reaching forth her hand to raise a fallen sister."
—Chapter of Accidents.
When Charlotte awoke she missed
Montraville, but thinking he might have
risen early to enjoy the beauties of the
morning, she was preparing to follow
him, when casting her eye on the table,
she saw a note, and opening it hastily,
she found these words:
" My dear Charlotte must not be sur-
prised if she does not see me again for
some time; unavoidable business will
prevent me that pleasure. Be assured
I am quite well this morning, and what
your fond imagination magnified into ill-
ness, was nothing more than fatigue,
which a few hours' rest has entirely re-
moved. Make yourself happy, and be
certain of the unalterable friendship of
146 Charlotte Temple.
"Friendship" said Charlotte, em-
phatically, as she finished the note. " Is
it come to this at last? Alas! poor for-
saken Charlottee! Thy doom is but too
apparent. Montraville is no longer in-
terested in thy happiness; and shame, re-
morse, and disappointed love will hence-
forth be thy only attendants ! "
Though these were the ideas that in-
voluntarily rushed upon the mind of
Charlotte, as she perused the fatal note,
yet, after a few hours elapsed, the siren
hope again took possession of her bosom,
and she flattered herself she could on the
second perusal discover an air of tender-
ness in the few lines he had left, and
which had at first escaped her notice.
" He certainly cannot be so base as to
leave me," said she; " and in styling him-
self as my friend, does he not promise to
protect me? I will not torment myself
with these causeless fears; I will place
confidence in his honor, and sure he will
not be so unjust as to abuse it."
Just as she had, by this manner of
reasoning, brought her mind to some
tolerable degree of composure, she was
surprised by a visit from Belcour. The
dejection visible in Charlotte's counten-
ance, her swollen eyes and neglected at-
tire, at once told him she was unhappy.
He made no doubt Montraville had,
by his coldness, alarmed her suspicions,
and was resolved, if possible, to arouse
her jealousy, urge her to reproach him,
and by that mean^ occasion a breach be-
" If I can once convince her that she
has a rival," said he, " she will listen to
my passion, if it is only to revenge his
Belcour knew but little of the female
heart; and what he did know was only
of those of loose and dissolute lives.
He had no idea that a woman might
fall a victim to imprudence, and yet re-
tain so strong a sense of honor as to re-
148 Charlotte Temple.
ject, with horror and contempt, every so-
licitation to a second fault.
He never imagined that a gentle, gen-
erous female heart, once attached, when
treated with unkindness, might break,
but would never harbor a thought of re-
His visit was not long, but before he
went, he fixed a scorpion in the heart of
Charlotte, whose venom embittered
every future hour of her life.
We will turn now, for a moment, to
He had been three months married,
and in that little time had discovered
that the conduct of his lady was not so
prudent as it ought to have been, but re-
monstrance was vain; her temper was
violent, and to the colonel's great mis-
fortune, he had conceived a sincere af-
fection for her; she saw her own power,
and with the art of Circe, made every ac-
tion appear to him in what light she
Charlotte Temple. 149
pleased; his acquaintances laughed at his
blindness, his friends pitied his infatua-
tion, his amiable daughter, Mrs. Beau-
champ, in secret deplored the loss of her
father's affection, and grieved that he
should be so entirely swayed by an artful
and, she much feared, infamous woman.
Mrs. Beauchamp was mild and engag-
ing; she loved not the hurry and bustle
of a city, and had prevailed on her hus-
band to take a house a few T miles from
Chance led her into the same neigh-
borhood with Charlotte. Their houses
stood within a short space of each other,
and their gardens joined.
She had not been long in her new
habitation before the figure of Charlotte
struck her; she recognized her interest-
ing features; she saw the melancholy so
conspicuous in her countenance, and her
heart bled at reflecting that, perhaps, de-
prived of honor, friends, and all that was
150 Charlotte Temple.
valuable in this life, she was doomed to
linger out a wretched existence in a
strange land, and sink broken-hearted
into an untimely grave.
" Would to Heaven I could snatch her
from so hard a fate ! " said she, " but the
merciless world has barred the doors of
compassion against the poor, weak girl,
who, perhaps, had she one kind friend to
raise and reassure her, would gladly re-
turn to peace and virtue, nay, even the
woman who dares to pity and endeavors
to recall a wandering sister, incurs the
sneer of contempt and ridicule, for an
action in which even angels are said to
The longer Mrs. Beauchamp was a
witness to the solitary life Charlotte led,
the more she wished to speak to her; and
often as she saw her cheeks wet with
tears of anguish, she would say — " Dear
sufferer, how gladly would I pour into
your heart the balm of consolation, were
it not for the fear of derision."
But an incident soon happened which
made her resolve to brave even the
scoffs of the world, rather than not to
enjoy the heavenly satisfaction of com-
forting a despondent fellow-creature.
Mrs. Beauehamp was an early riser.
She was one morning walking in the gar-
den, leaning on her husband's arm, when
the sound of a harp attracted their no-
tice; they listened attentively, and heard
a soft, melodious voice, distinctly sing-
ing the following stanzas:
" In vain thy glories bid me rise,
To hail the new-born day;
Alas! my morning sacrifice,
Is still to weep and pray.
" For what are nature's charms combin'd
• To one whose weary breast
Can neither peace, nor comfort find,
Nor friend whereon to rest?
" Oh! never, never! whilst I live
Can my heart's anguish cease;
Come, friendly death, thy mandate give,
And let me be at peace."
" 'Tis poor Charlotte ! " said Mrs.
Beauehamp, the pellucid drop of human-
ity stealing down her cheek.
Major Beauchamp was alarmed at her
emotion. " What, Charlotte ? " said he.
" Do you know her 1 99
In the accent of a pitying angel did
she disclose to her husband Charlotte's
unhappy situation, and the frequent
wish she had formed of being serviceable
" I fear," continued she, " the poor
girl has been basely betrayed; and if I
thought you would not blame me, I
would pay her a visit, offer her my
friendship, and endeavor to restore to
her heart that peace she seems to have
lost, and so pathetically laments. Who
knows, my dear," laying her hand affec-
tionately on his arm, " who knows but
she has left some kind, affectionate par-
ents to lament her errors, and would she
return, they might with rapture receive
the poor penitent, and wash away her
faults in tears of joy? Oh! what a
glorious reflection would it be for me
Charlotte Temple. 153
could I be the happy instrument of re-
storing her. Her heart may not be de-
" Exalted woman/' cried Beauchamp,
embracing her, " how dost thou rise ev-
ery moment in my esteem ! Follow the
impulse of thy generous heart, my
Emily. Let prudes and fools censure,
if they dare, and blame a sensibility they
never felt. I will exultingly tell them
that the truly virtuous heart is ever in-
clined to pity and forgive the errors of
A beam of exulting joy played around
the animated countenance of Mrs. Beau-
champ at these encomiums bestowed on
her by a beloved husband; the most de-
lightful sensations pervaded her heart;
and, having breakfasted, she prepared to
A BENEVOLENT VISIT.
Teach me to feel another's woe;
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me. — Pope.
When Mrs. Beauchamp was dressed
she began to feel embarrassed at the
thought of beginning an acquaintance
with Charlotte, and was distressed how
to make the first visit. " I cannot go
without some introduction/ 7 said she.
" It will look like impertinent curiosity."
At length, recollecting herself, she
stepped into the garden, and, gathering a
few fine cucumbers, took them in her
hand by way of apology for her visit.
A glow of conscious shame vermil-
ioned Charlotte's face as Mrs. Beau-
" You will pardon me, madam," said
Charlotte Temple. 105
she, " for not having before paid my re-
spects to so amiable a neighbor; bnt we
English people always keep up, whither
we go, that reserve which is the charac-
teristic of our nation. I have taken the
liberty to bring you a few cucumbers;
for I had observed you had none in your
Charlotte, though naturally polite and
well-bred, was so confused she could
hardly speak. Her kind visitor endeav-
ored to relieve her by not noticing her
embarrassment. " I am come, madam/'
continued she, " to request you to spend
the day w T ith me. I shall be alone, and
as we are both strangers in this country,
we may hereafter be extremely happy
in each other's friendship."
" Your friendship, madam," said
Charlotte, blushing, " is an honor to all
who are favored with it. Little as I have
seen of this part of the world, I am no
stranger to Mrs. Beauchamp's goodness
156 Charlotte Temple.
of heart and known humanity; but my
friendship " She paused, glanced
her eye upon her own visible situation,
and in spite of her endeavors to suppress
them, burst into tears.
Mrs. Beauchamp guessed the source
from whence these tears flowed. " You
seem unhappy, madam," said she; " shall
I be thought worthy your confidence?
Will you intrust me with the cause of
your sorrow, and rest on my assurance to
exert my utmost power to serve you ? "
Charlotte returned a look of gratitude,
but could not speak, and Mrs. Beau-
champ continued : " My heart was inter-
ested in your behalf the first moment I
saw you; and I only lament I had not
made earlier overtures towards an ac-
quaintance ; but I flatter myself you will
henceforth consider me as your friend."
" Oh, madam ! " said Charlotte, " I
have forfeited the good opinion of all my
friends; I have forsaken them, and un-
Charlotte Temple. 157
" Come — come, my dear," said Mrs.
Beauchamp, "you must not indulge in
these gloomy thoughts; you are not, I
hope, so unhappy as you imagine your-
self; endeavor to be composed, and let
me be favored with your company at
dinner, when, if you can bring yourself
to think me your friend and repose con-
fidence in me, I am ready to convince
you that it shall not be abused."
She then arose and bade her good-
At dining hour, Charlotte repaired to
Mrs. Beauchamp's, and during dinner
assumed as composed an aspect as possi-
ble, but when the cloth was removed,
she summoned all her resolution, and de-
termined to make Mrs. Bauchamp ac-
quainted with every circumstance pre-
ceding her elopement, and the earnest
desire she had to quit a way of life so re-
pugnant to her feelings.
With the benignant aspect of an angel
of mercy, did Mrs. Beauchamp listen to
the artless tale; she was shocked to the
soul to find how large a share La Rue
had in the seduction of this amiable girl,
and a tear fell when she reflected that so
vile a woman was now the wife of her
father. When Charlotte had finished,
she gave her a little time to collect her
scattered spirits, and then asked her if
she had written to her friends.
" Oh, yes, madam," said she, " fre-
quently; but I have broken their hearts;
they are all either dead, or have cast me
off forever, for I have never received a
single line from them."
" I rather suspect," said Mrs. Beau-
champ, " they have never had your let-
ters; but suppose you were to hear from
them, and they were willing to receive
you, would you leave this cruel Montra-
ville, and return to them ? "
" Would I ? " said Charlotte, clasping
her hands; "would not the poor sailor
Charlotte Temple. 159
tossed on a tempestuous ocean, threat-
ened every moment with death, gladly
return to the shore he had left to trust to
its deceitful calmness? Oh, my dear
madam, I would return, though to do it
I were obliged to walk barefooted, and
beg a scanty pittance of each traveler to
support my existence. I would endure
it all cheerfully, could I but once more
see my dear, blessed mother, hear her
pronounce my pardon, and bless me be-
fore I died; but alas! I shall never see
her more; she has blotted the ungrateful
Charlotte from her remembrance, and I
shall sink to the grave loaded with her's
and my father's curse."
Mrs. Beauchamp endeavored to soothe
" You shall write to them again," said
she, " and I will see that the letter is sent
by the first packet that sails for Eng-
land; in the meantime, keep up your
spirits, and hope for everything by de-
She then turned the conversation, and
Charlotte, having taken a cup of tea,
wished her benevolent friend a good-
SORROWS OF THE HEART.
When Charlotte returned home she
endeavored to collect her thoughts, and
took up a pen, in order to address those
dear parents, whom, spite of her errors,
she still loved with the utmost tender-
ness, but vain was every effort to write
with the least coherence.
Her tears fell so fast, they almost
blinded her, and as she proceeded to de-
scribe her unhappy situation, she became
so agitated that she was obliged to give
over the attempt, and retired to bed,
Charlotte Temple. 161
where, overcome with the fatigue her
mind had undergone, she fell into a
slumber which greatly refreshed her.
She arose in the morning with spirits
more adequate to the painful task she
had to perform, and after several at-
tempts, at length concluded the follow-
ing letter to her mother:
" New York.
" To Mrs. Temple:
" Will my once kind, my ever-beloved
mother, deign to receive a letter from
her guilty, but repentant child? or has
she, justly incensed at my ingratitude,
driven the unhappy Charlotte from her
"Alas! shouldst thou even disown me,
I dare not complain, because I have de-
served it; but yet, believe me, guilty as
I am, and cruelly as I have disappointed
the hopes of the fondest parents that
ever girl had, even in the moment when,
162 Charlotte Temple.
forgetful of my duty, I fled from you
and happiness — even then I loved you
most, and my heart bled at the thought
of what you would suffer. Oh ! never —
never! while I have existence, will the
agony of that moment be erased from
my memory. It seemed like the separa-
tion of soul and body.
" What can I plead in excuse for my
conduct? Alas! nothing. That I loved
my seducer is but too true. Yet, pow-
erful as that passion is, when operating
in a young heart glowing with sensibil-
ity, it never would have conquered my
affection for you, my beloved parents,
had I not been encouraged, nay, urged
to take the fatal step by one of my own
sex, who, under the mask of friendship,
drew me on to ruin.
" Yet, think not that your Charlotte
was so lost as to voluntarily rush into a
life of infamy.
" Xo, my dear mother, deceived by
Charlotte Temple. 163
the specious appearance of my betrayer,
and every suspicion lulled asleep by the
most solemn promise of marriage, I
thought those promises would not so
easily be fogotten.
" I never once reflected that the man
who could stoop to seduction, would not
hesitate to forsake the wretched object
of his passion, whenever his capricious
heart grew weary of her tenderness.
" When we arrived at this place, I
vainly expected him to fulfill his engage-
ments; but was at last fatally convinced
he never intended to make me his wife,
or if he had once thought of it his mind
was now altered.
" I scorned to claim from his human-
ity what I could not obtain from his
love ; I was conscious of having forfeited
the only gem that could render me re-
spectable in the eyes of the world
" I locked my sorrows in my own
bosom, and bore my injuries in silence.
164 Charlotte Temple.
" But how shall I proceed ?
" This man, this cruel Montraville, for
whom I sacrificed honor, happiness, and
the love of my friends, no longer looks
on me with affection, but scorns the
credulous girl whom his art has made
" Could you see me, my dear parents,
without society, without friends, stung
with remorse, and (I feel the burning
blush of shame dye my cheeks while I
write it) tortured with the pangs of dis-
appointed love, cut to the soul by the in-
difference of him, who, having deprived
me of every other comfort, no longer
thinks it worth his while to soothe the
heart where he has planted the thorn of
" My daily employment is to think of
you and weep, to pray for your happi-
ness, and deplore my own folly; my
nights are scarce more happy; for, if by
Charlotte Temple. 165
chance I close my weary eyes, and hope
some small forgetfulness of sorrow, some
little time to pass in sweet oblivion,
fancy, still waking, wafts me home to
you; I see your beloved forms; I kneel
and hear the blessed words of peace and
pardon. Ecstatic joy pervades my soul.
I reach my arms to catch the dear em-
braces; the motion chases the illusive
dream; I wake to real misery.
"At other times I see my father, angry
and frowning, point to horrid caves,
where, on the cold, damp ground, in the
agonies of death, I see my dear mother
and my revered grandfather.
" I strive to raise you ; you push me
from you, and shrieking, cry: i Char-
lotte, thou hast murdered me.' Horror
and despair tear every tortured nerve; I
start and leave my restless bed, weary
" Shocking as these reflections are, I
have yet one more dreadful than the rest.
166 Charlotte Temple.
Mother, my dear mother! do not let me
quite break your heart when I tell you,
in a few months, in a few months I shall
bring into the world an innocent witness
of my guilt. Oh! my bleeding heart.
I shall bring a poor little helpless creat-
ure heir to infamy and shame.
" This alone has urged me once more
to address you, to interest you in behalf
of this unborn, and beg you to extend
your protection to the child of your lost
Charlotte. For my own part, I have
written so often, so frequently have
pleaded for forgiveness, and entreated to
be received once more beneath the pa-
ternal roof, that, having received no an-
swer, nor even one line, I much fear
you have cast me from you forever.
" But sure you cannot refuse to pro-
tect my innocent infant; it partakes not
of its mother's guilt. Oh! my father,
oh! my beloved mother, now do I feel
the anguish inflicted on your hearts re-
coiling with double force on my own.
Charlotte Temple. 167
" If my child should be a girl (which
Heaven forbid), tell her the unhappy
fate of her mother, and teach her to
avoid my errors; if a boy, teach him to
lament my miseries, but tell him not
who inflicted them, lest, in wishing to re-
venge his mother's injuries, he should
wound the peace of his father.
"And now, dear friends of my soul,
kind guardians of my infancy, farewell.
I feel I never more must hope to see
you. The anguish of my heart strikes
at the strings of life, and in a short time
I shall be at rest. Oh, could I but re-
ceive your blessing and forgiveness be-
fore I die, it would smooth my passage
to the peaceful grave, and be a blessed
foretaste of a happy eternity. I beseech
you, curse me not, my adored parents;
but let a tear of pity and pardon fall to
the memory of your lost
A MAN MAY SMILE, AND SMILE AND BE A
While Charlotte was enjoying some
small degree of comfort in the consoling
friendship of Mrs. Beauchamp, Montra-
ville was advancing rapidly in his affec-
tion toward Miss Franklin.
Julia was an amiable girl; she saw
only the fair side of his character; she
possessed an independent fortune, and
resolved to be happy with the man of
her heart, though his rank and fortune
was by no means so exalted as she had a
right to expect; she saw the passion
which Montraville struggled to conceal;
she wondered at his timidity, but im-
agined the distance fortune had placed
between them occasioned his backward-
ness. She, therefore, made every ad-
vance which strict prudence and a be-
coming modesty could permit. Mon-
traville saw with pleasure she was not in-
different to him; but a spark of honor
which animated his bosom would not
suffer him to take advantage of partial-
ity. He was well acquainted with Char-
lotte's situation, and he thought there
would be a double cruelty in forsaking
her at such a time; and to marry Miss
Franklin, while honor, humanity, every
sacred law, obliged him still to protect
and support Charlotte, was a baseness at
which his soul shuddered.
He communicated his uneasiness to
Belcour; it was the very thing his pre-
tended friend had wished.
"And do you really," said he, laugh-
ing, " hesitate at marrying the lovely
Julia, and becoming master of her for-
tune, because a little, foolish, fond girl,
chose to leave her friends, and run away
with you to America? Dear Montra-
ville, act more like a man of sense. This
whining, pining Charlotte, who occa-
sions you so much uneasiness, would
have eloped with somebody else, if she
had not with you."
" Would to Heaven," said Montra-
ville, " I had never seen her. My regard
for her was but the momentary passion of
desire; but I feel I shall love and revere
Julia Franklin as long as I live; yet to
leave poor Charlotte in her present situa-
tion, would be cruel beyond descrip-
" Oh, my good, sentimental friend,"
said Belcour, " do you imagine that no-
body has a right to provide for the brat
but yourself ? "
" Sure," said he, " you cannot mean to
insinuate that Charlotte is alse ? "
"I don't insinuate it," said Belcour;
" I know it."
Montraville turned pale as ashes.
" Then there is no faith in woman,"
" While I thought you were attached
to her," said Belcour, with an air of in-
difference, " I never wished to make you
uneasy by mentioning her perfidy; but,
as I know you love and are beloved by
Miss Franklin, I was determined not to
let these foolish scruples of honor step
between you and happiness, or your ten-
derness for the peace of a perfidious girl
prevent your uniting yourself to a
woman of honor."
" Good heavens ! " said Montraville,
" what poignant reflections does a man
endure who sees a lovely woman plunged
in infamy, and is conscious he was her
first seducer. But are you certain of
what you say, Belcour ? "
" So far," said he, " that I myself have
received advances from her, which I
would not take advantage of out of re-
gard for you. But, hang it, think no
more about her. I dined at Franklin's
to-day, and Julia bid me seek and bring
you to tea ; so come along, my lad, make
good use of the opportunity, and receive
the gifts of fortune while they are with-
in your reach."
Montraville was too much agitated to
pass a happy evening even in the com-
pany of Jnlia Franklin.
He determined to visit Charlotte early
next morning, tax her with falsehood,
and take an everlasting leave of her.
But when the morning came, he was
commanded on duty, and for six weeks
was prevented from putting his design
At length he found an hour to spare,
and walked out to spend it with Char-
It was near four o'clock in the after-
noon when he arrived at her cottage.
She was not in the parlor, and with-
out calling her servant, he walked up-
Charlotte Temple. 173
stairs, thinking to find her in her bed-
room. He opened the door, and the
first object that met his eyes was Char-
lotte asleep on the bed, and Belcour by
" Death and destruction ! " said he,
stamping, " this is too much. Rise, vil-
lain, and defend yourself ! "
The noise awoke Charlotte.
Terrified at the furious appearance of
Montraville, and seeing Belcour with
him in the chamber, she caught hold of
his arm, as he stood by the bedside, and
eagerly asked what was the matter.
"Treacherous, infamous giil ! " said
he, " can you ask? How came he here? "
pointing to Belcour.
"As Heaven is my witness ! " replied
she, weeping, " I do not know. I have
not seen him for these three weeks."
" Then you confess he sometimes visits
you ? "
" He came sometimes by your desire. "
174 Charlotte Temple.
" 'Tis false. I never desired him to
come, and you know I did not. But
mark me, Charlotte, from this instant
our connection is at an end. Let Bel-
cour or any of your favored lovers take
you and provide for you; I have done
with you forever ! "
He was then going to leave her, but
starting wildly from the bed, she threw
herself on her knees before him, pro-
tested her innocence, and intreated him
not to leave her.
" Oh, Montraville ! " said she, " kill
me, for pity's sake, kill me, but do not
doubt my fidelity. Do not leave me in
this horrid situation. For the sake of
your unborn child, oh, spurn not the
wretched mother from you ! "
" Charlotte," said he, with a firm
voice, " I shall take care that neither you
nor your child want for anything in the
approaching painful hour, but we meet
Pie then endeavored to raise her from
the ground, but in vain. She clung
about his knees, entreating him to be-
lieve her innocent, and conjuring Bel-
cour to clear up the dreadful mystery.
Belcour cast upon Montraville a smile
of contempt. It irritated him almost to
He broke from the feeble arms of the
She shrieked and fell prostrate on the
Montraville instantly left the house,
and returned hastily to the city.
Unfortunately for Charlotte, about
three weeks before this unhappy rencon-
tre, Major Beauchamp, being ordered to
176 Charlotte Temple.
Khode Island, his lady had accompanied
him, so that Charlotte was deprived of
her friendly advice and consoling so-
The afternoon on which Montraville
had visited her she had found herself
languid and fatigued, and after making
a very slight dinner, had laid down to
endeavor to recruit her exhausted spirits,
and, contrary to her expectations, had
She had not been long laid down when
Belcour arrived; for he took every op-
portunity of visiting her, and striving to
awaken her resentment against Montra-
He inquired of the servant where her
mistress was, and being told she was
asleep, took up a book to amuse himself.
Having sat a few minutes, he by
chance cast his eyes towards the road,
and saw Montraville approaching.
He instantly conceived the diabolical
scheme of ruining the unhappy Char-
lotte in his opinion for ever.
He therefore stole softly up-stairs, and
laying himself by her side with the
greatest precaution, for fear she would
awake, was in that situation discovered
by his credulous friend.
When Montraville spurned the weep-
ing Charlotte from him, and left her al-
most distracted with terror and despair,
Belcour raised her from the floor, and
leading her down-stairs, assumed the part
of a tender, consoling friend.
She listened to the arguments he ad-
vanced, with apparent composure; but
this was only the calm of the moment.
The remembrance of Montraville's re-
cent cruelty again rushed upon her
mind; she pushed him from her with
some violence, crying:
" Leave me, sir, I beseech you ; leave
me, for much I fear you have been the
cause of my fidelity being suspected ; go,
178 Charlotte Temple.
leave me to the accumulated miseries my
own imprudence has brought upon me."
She then left him with precipitation,
and retiring to her own apartments,
threw herself on the bed, and gave vent
to an agony of grief which it is impossi-
ble to describe.
It now occurred to Belcour that she
might possibly write to Montraville, and
endeavor to convince him of her inno-
cence. He was well aware of her pa-
thetic remonstrances, and sensible of the
tenderness of Montraville's heart, re-
solved to prevent any letters reaching
He therefore called the servant, and
by the powerful persuasion of a bribe,
prevailed with her to promise whatever
letters her mistress might write should
be sent to him.
He then left a polite, tender note for
Charlotte, and returned to New York.
His first business was to seek Montra-
Charlotte Temple. 179
ville, and endeavor to convince him that
what had happened would ultimately
tend to his happiness.
He found him in his apartment, soli-
tary, pensive, and wrapped in disagree-
" Why, how now, whining, pining
lover ? " said he, clapping him on the
Montraville started; a momentary
flush of resentment crossed his cheek,
but instantly gave way to a death-like
paleness, occasioned by painful remem-
brance — remembrance awakened by that
monitor, whom, though we may in vain
endeavor, we can never entirely silence.
" Belcour," said he, " you have in-
jured me in a tender point."
" Prithee, J ack," replied Belcour, " do
not make a serious matter of it; how
could I refuse the girl's advances? and
thank Heaven she is not your wife."
"True," said Montraville; "but she
180 Charlotte Temple,
was innocent when I first knew her. It
was I seduced her, Belcour. Had it not
been for me, she had still been virtuous
and happy in the affection and protection
of her family.
" Pshaw," replied Belcour, laughing,
" if you had not taken advantage of her
easy nature, some other would, and
where is the difference, pray ? "
" I wish I had never seen her," cried
he, passionately, and starting from his
seat. " Oh, that cursed French wo-
man ! M added he with vehemence, " had
it not been for her I might have been
" With Julia Franklin," said Belcour.
The name, like a sudden spark of elec-
tric fire, seemed for a moment to sus-
pend his faculties — for a moment he was
transfixed; but recovering, he caught
Belcour's hand, and cried :
" Stop — stop ! I beseech you, name
Charlotte Temple. 181
not the lovely Julia and the wretched
Montraville in the same breath. I am
a seducer — a mean, ungenerous seducer
of unsuspecting innocence. I dare not
hope that purity like hers would stoop
to unite itself with black, premeditated
guilt. Yet, by heavens! I swear, Bel-
cour, I thought I never could forsake
her; but the heart is deceitful, and now
I can plainly discriminate between the
impulse of a youthful passion, and the
pure flame of disinterested affection."
At that instant Julia Franklin passed
the window, leaning on her uncle's arm.
She courtesied as she passed, and with a
bewitching smile of modest cheerfulness,
" Do you bury yourselves in the house
this fine evening, gents ? "
There was something in the voice, the
manner, the look, that was altogether ir-
" Perhaps she wishes my company,"
182 Charlotte Temple.
said Montraville, mentally, as he snatch-
ed up his hat. " If I thought she loved
me, I would confess my errors, and trust
to her generosity to pity and pardon
He soon overtook her, and offering
her his arm, they sauntered to pleasant,
but unfrequented walks.
Belcour drew Mr. Franklin on one
side, and entered into a political dis-
course. They walked faster than the
young people, and Belcour, by some
means, contrived to lose sight of them.
It was a fine evening in the begin-
ning of autumn ; the last remains of day-
light faintly streaked the western sky,
while the moon with pale and virgin lus-
ter in the room of gorgeous gold and
purple, ornamented the canopy of
heaven with silver, fleecy clouds, which
now and then half hid her lovely face,
and, by partly concealing, heightened
every beauty; the zephyrs whispered
Charlotte Temple. 183
softly through the trees, which now be-
gan to shed their leafy honors; a solemn
silence reigned; and, to a happy mind,
an evening such as this would give
serenity, and calm, unruffled pleasure.
But to Montraville, while it soothed
the turbulence of his passions, it
brought increase of melancholy reflec-
Julia was leaning on his arm. He
took her hand in his, and pressing it ten-
derly, sighed deeply, but continued si-
lent. Julia was embarrassed; she wished
to break a silence so unaccountable, but
was unable. She loved Montraville;
she saw he was unhappy, and wished to
know the cause of his uneasiness, but
that innate modesty which nature had
implanted in the female breast, pre-
vented her inquiring.
" I am bad company, Miss Franklin,"
said he, at last recollecting himself,
" but I have met with something to-day
184 Charlotte Temple.
that has greatly distressed me, and I can-
not shake off the disagreeable impression
it has made on my mind."
" I am sorry/' she replied, " that you
have any cause of inquietude. I am sure
if you were as happy as you deserve, and
as all your friends wish you "
"And might I," replied he, with some
animation, " presume to rank the amia-
ble Julia in the number ? "
"Certainly," said she; "the service
you have rendered me, the knowledge of
your worth, all combine to make me es-
" Esteem, my lovely Julia," said he,
passionately, " is but a poor, cold word.
I would if I dared — if I merited your at-
tention — but no, I must not — honor for-
bids — I am beneath your notice, Julia;
I -am miserable and cannot hope to be
"Alas ! " said Julia, " I pity you."
Charlotte Temple. 185
" Oh, thou condescending charmer ! "
said he, " how that sweet word cheers my
heart. Indeed, if yon knew all, you
would pity; but at the same time, I fear
you would despise me."
Just then they were joined by Mr.
Franklin and Belcour.
It had interrupted an interesting dis-
course. They found it impossible to
converse on different subjects, and pro-
ceeded home in silence.
At Mr. Franklin's door, Montraville
again pressed Julia's hand, and, faintly
articulating " good-night," retired to his
lodgings, dispirited and wretched, from
a consciousness that he deserved not the
affection with which he plainly saw he
EECEPTIOX OF A LETTER.
"And where now is our poor Char-
lotte ? " said Mr. Temple, one evening,
as the cold blasts of autumn whistled
rudely over the heath, and the yellow
appearance of the distant wood, spoke
the near approach of winter. In vain
the cheerful fire blazed on the hearth;
in vain was he surrounded by all the
comforts of life; the parent was still
alive in his heart; and when he thought
that perhaps his once darling child was
ere this exposed to all the miseries of
want in a distant land, without a friend
to soothe and comfort her, without the
benignant look of compassion to cheer,
or the angelic voice of pity to pour the
balm of consolation on her wounded
heart; when he thought of this, his
Charlotte lemple. 187
whole soul dissolved into tenderness,and
while he wiped the tear of anguish from
the eye of his patient, uncomplaining
Lucy, he struggled to suppress the sym-
pathizing drop that started in his own.
" Oh! my poor girl ! " said Mrs. Tem-
ple, " how must she be altered, else sure-
ly she would have relieved our agoniz-
ing minds by one line to say she lived—
to say she had not quite forgot the par-
ents who almost idolized her."
" Gracious Heaven ! " said Mr. Tem-
ple, starting from his seat, " who would
wish to be a father to experience the
agonizing pangs inflicted on a parent's
heart by the ingratitude of a child ? "
Mrs. Temple wept. Her father took her
hand. He would have said: "Be com-
forted, my child ! " but the words died
on his tongue. The sad silence that
ensued was interrupted by a loud rap at
the door. In a moment a servant en-
tered with a letter in his hand.
Mrs. Temple took it from him; she
cast her eyes upon the superscription.
She knew the writing — " 'Tis Char-
lotte," said she, eagerly breaking the
seal, " she has not quite forgot us." But
before she had half gone through the
contents, a sudden sickness seized her;
she grew cold and giddy, and putting it
into her husband's hands, she cried:
" Eead it; I cannot."
Mr. Temple attempted to read it
aloud, but frequently paused to give
vent to his tears.
" My poor, deluded child ! " said he.
when he had finished.
" Oh, shall we not forgive the dear
penitent ? " said Mrs. Temple. " We
must, we will, my love; she is willing to
return, and 'tis our duty to receive her."
" Father of mercy," said Mr. El-
dridge, raising his clasped hands, " let
me but live once more to see the dear
wanderer restored to her afflicted par-
Charlotte Temple. 189
ents, and take me from this world of sor-
row whenever it seemeth best to Thy
" Yes, we will receive her/' said Mr.
Temple ; " we will endeavor to heal her
wounded spirit, and speak peace and
comfort to her agitated soul. I will
write to her to return immediately. "
" Oh ! " said Mrs. Temple. " I would,
if possible, fly to her, support and cheer
the dear sufferer in the approaching
hour of distress, and tell her how nearly
penitence is allied to virtue. Cannot
we go and conduct her home, my love? "
continued she, laying her hand on his
arm. " My father will surely forgive
our absence if we go to bring home his
" You cannot go, my Lucy," said Mr.
Temple ; " the delicacy of your frame
would but poorly sustain the fatigue of
a long voyage; but I will go and bring
the gentle penitent to your arms. We
may still see many years of happiness."
The struggle in the bosom of Mrs.
Temple between maternal and conjugal
tenderness was long and painful. At
length the former triumphed, and she
consented that her husband should set.
forward to Xew York by the first oppor-
tunity. She wrote to her Charlotte in
the tenderest, most consoling manner,
and looked forward to the happy hour
when she would again embrace her with
the most animated hope.
WHAT MIGHT BE EXPECTED.
In the meantime the passion Montra-
ville had conceived for Julia Franklin
daily increased, and he saw evidently
how much he was beloved by that
Charlotte Temple. 191
amiable girl; he was likewise strongly
impressed with an idea of Charlotte's
What wonder, then, if he gave him-
self up to the delightful sensation which
pervaded his bosom, and finding no ob-
stacle arise to oppose his happiness, he
solicited and obtained the hand of Julia.
A few days before his marriage, he
thus addressed Belcour:
" Though Charlotte, by her aban-
doned conduct, has thrown herself from
my protection, I still hold myself bound
to support her till relieved from her
present condition, and also to provide for
the child. I do not intend to see her
again, but I will place a sum of money
in your hands which will amply supply
her with every convenience, but should
she require more, let her have it, and
I will see it repaid. I wish I could pre-
vail upon the poor, deluded girl to re-
turn to her friends. She was an only
child, and I make no doubt but they
would joyfully receive her. It would
shock me greatly to see her leading a life
of infamy, as I should always accuse
myself as being the primary cause of her
errors. If she should choose to remain
under your protection, be kind to her,
Belcour, I conjure you. Let not satiety
prompt you to treat her in such a man-
ner as may drive her to actions which
necessity might urge hereto, while her
better reason disapproves them. She
shall never want a friend while I live,
but I never more desire to behold her;
her presence would always be painful to
me, and a glance from her eye would
call the blush of conscious guilt into my
cheek. I will write her a letter, which
you may deliver when I am gone, as I
shall go to St. Eustatia the day after my
union with Julia, who will accompany
Belcour promised to fulfil the request
Charlotte Temple. 193
of his friend, though nothing was
further from his intentions than the
least design of delivering the letter, or
making Charlotte acquainted with the
provision Montraville had made for her.
He was bent upon the complete ruin of
the unhappy girl, and supposed, by re-
ducing her to an entire dependence upon
him, to bring her by degrees to consent
to gratify his ungenerous passion.
The evening before the day appointed
for the nuptials of Montraville and Ju-
lia, the former retired early to bed, and,
ruminating on the past scenes of his
life, suffered the keenest remorse in the
remembrance of Charlotte's seduction.
" Poor girl," said he, " I will at least
write and bid her adieu; I will, too, en-
deavor to awaken that love of virtue in
her bosom which her unfortunate at-
tachment to me has extinguished."
He took up the pen and began to
write, but words were denied him.
194 Charlotte Temple.
How could he address the woman whom
he had seduced, and whom, though he
thought unworthy his tenderness, he
was about to bid adieu forever ? How
could he tell her that he was going to
abjure her, and enter into the most in-
dissoluble ties with another, and that he
could not even own the infant which
she bore as his child ? Several letters
were begun and destroyed; at length he
completed the following :
" To Charlotte : — Though I have
taken up my pen to address you, my
poor, injured girl, I feel I am inade-
quate to the task; yet, however painful
the endeavor, I could not resolve upon
leaving you forever without one kind
line to bid you adieu — to tell you how
my heart bleeds at the remembrance of
what you were before you saw the hated
" Even now imagination paints the
scene, when torn by contending pas-
Charlotte Temple. 195
sions, when struggling between love and
duty, you fainted in my arms and I
lifted you into the chaise.
" I see the agony of your mind, when,
recovering, you found yourself on the
road to Portsmouth.
" But how, my gentle girl, how could
you, when so justly impressed with the
value of virtue, how could you, when
loving as I thought you loved me, yield
to the solicitation of Belcour ?
" Oh, Charlotte, conscience tells me
it was I, villian that I am, who first
taught you the allurements of guilty
pleasure; it was I who dragged you
from the calm repose which innocence
and virtue ever enjoy, and can I, dare I
tell you it was not love prompted to the
horrid deed ? No, thou dear, fallen an-
gel; believe your repentant Montraville
when he tells you that the man who
truly loves will never betray the object
of his affection.
196 Charlotte Temple.
" Adieu, Charlotte ! Could you still
find charms in a life of unoffending in-
nocence, return to your parents; you
shall never want the means of support
both for yourself and child. Oh ! gra-
cious Heaven ! may that child be en-
tirely free from the vice of its father
and the weakness of its mother.
" To-morrow — but no, I cannot tell
you what to-morrow will produce — Bel-
cour will inform you, he also has cash
for you, which I beg you will ask for
whenever you may want it.
" Once more, adieu ! Believe me,
could I hear you had returned to your
friends, and was enjoying that tran-
quility of which I have robbed you, I
should be as completely happy as even
you, in your fondest hours, could wish
me. But till then a gloom will obscure
the brightest prospects of
" Montr aville."
Charlotte Temple. 197
After he had sealed this letter he
threw himself on the bed and enjoyed a
few hours' repose.
Early in the morning Belcour tapped
at his door.
He arose hastily, and prepared to
meet his Julia at the altar.
" This is the letter to Charlotte/' said
he, giving it to Belcour; " take it to her
when we are gone to Eustatia; and I
conjure you, my dear friend, not to use
any sophistical arguments to prevent her
return to virtue; but should she incline
that way, encourage her in the thought
and assist her to put her design into exe-
Pensive she mourn'd, and hung her languid head,
Like a fair lily overcharg'd with dew.
Charlotte had now been left almost
three months a prey to her own melan-
choly reflections — sad companions, in-
deed; nor did any one break in upon her
solitude but Belcour, who once or twice
called to inquire after her health, and
tell her he had in vain endeavored to
bring Montraville to hear reason; and
once, but only once, was her mind
cheered by the receipt of an affectionate
letter from Mrs. Beauchamp.
Often she had written to her per-
fidous seducer, and with the most per-
suasive eloquence endeavored to con-
vince him of her innocence; but these
letters were never suffered to reach the
hands of Montraville, or they must,
though on the eve of his marriage, have
Charlotte Temple. 199
prevented liis deserting the wretched
Real anguish of heart had in a great
measure faded her charms; her cheeks
were pale from want of rest, and her
eyes, by frequent, indeed, almost con-
tinued weeping, were sunken and heavy.
Sometimes a gleam of hope would play
about her heart when she thought of her
" They cannot, surely," she would
say, " refuse to forgive me ; or should
they deny their pardon to me, they will
not hate my infant on account of its
How often did the poor mourner wish
for the consoling presence of the benev-
olent Mrs. Beauchamp.
" If she were here she would certainly
comfort me, and soothe the distraction
of my soul."
She was sitting one afternoon,
wrapped in these melancholy reflections,
200 Charlotte Temple.
when she was interrupted by the en-
trance of Belcour. Great as the altera-
tion Avas which incessant sorrow had
made on her person, she was still inter-
esting, still charming, and the unhal-
lowed flame, which had urged Belcour
to plant dissension between her and
Montraville, still raged in his bosom; he
was determined, if possible, to make her
his mistress; nay, he had even conceived
the diabolical scheme of taking her to
Xew York, and making her appear in
every public place where it was likely
she should meet Montraville, that he
might be a witness of his unmanly
When he entered the room where
Charlotte was sitting; he assumed the
look of tender consolatory friendship.
" And how does my lovely Char-
lotte ?" said he, taking her hand; "I
fear you are not so well as I could wish."
" I am not well, Mr. Belcour," said
Charlotte Temple. 201
she, "very far from it; but the pains and
infirmities of the body I could easily
bear, nay, submit to them with patience,
were they not aggravated by the most
insupportable anguish of my mind."
" You are not happy, Charlotte \ "
said he, with a look of well-dissembled
" Alas ! " replied she, mournfully
shaking her head, " how can I be happy,
deserted as I am, without a friend of my
own sex to whom I can unburthen my
full heart; nay, my fidelity suspected by
the very man for whom I have sacrificed
everything valuable in life — for whom I
have made myself a poor, despised crea-
ture, an outcast from society, an object
only of contempt and pity ? "
" You speak too meanly of yourself,
Miss Temple; there is no one who would
dare to treat you with contempt. All
who have the pleasure of knowing you,
must admire and esteem. You are lone-
ly here, my dear girl; give me leave
to conduct you to New York, where the
agreeable society of some ladies I will
introduce you to will dispel the sad
thoughts, and I shall again see return-
ing cheerfulness animate those lovely
" Oh, never — never ! " cried Char-
lotte, emphatically. " The virtuous
part of my sex will scorn me, and I will
never associate with infamy. No, Bel-
cour, here let me hide my shame and
sorrow; here let me spend my few re-
maining days in obscurity, unknown
and unpitied; here let me die unla-
mented,and my name sink into ob-
Here her tears stopped her utterance.
Belcour was awed to silence; he dared
not to interrupt her, and after a mom-
ment's pause she proceeded :
" I once had conceived the thought
of going to New York to seek out the
Charlotte Temple. 203
still dear, though cruel, ungenerOtls
Montraville — to throw myself at his
feet and entreat his compassion — Heav-
en knows, not for myself; if I am no
longer beloved, I will not be indebted
to his pity to redress my injuries, but I
would have knelt and entreated him not
to forsake my poor unborn "
She could say no more ; a crimson
glow rushed over her cheeks, and, cover-
ing her face with her hands, she sobbed
Something like humanity was awak-
ened in Belcour's breast by this pathetic
speech. He arose and walked toward
the window, but the selfish passion
which had taken possession of his heart
soon stifled these finer emotions, and he
thought, if Charlotte was once convinced
she had no longer dependence upon
Montraville, she would more readily
throw herself upon his protection. De-
termined, therefore, to inform her of
all that had happened, he again resumed ,
his seat, and, finding she began to be
composed, inquired if she had ever
heard from Montraville since the un-
hapy rencontre in her bed-chamber.
" Ah, no ! " said she, " I fear I shall
never hear from him again."
" I am greatly of your opinion/' said
Belcour, " for he has been, for some
time past, greatly attached "
At the word " attached," a death-like
paleness overspread the countenance of
Charlotte, but she applied some harts-
horn which stood beside her, and Bel-
cour proceeded :
" He has been for some time past
greatly attached to one Miss Franklin,
a pleasing, lively girl, with a large for-
" She may be richer, may be hand-
somer," cried Charlotte, " but cannot
love him so well. Oh ! may she beware
of his art, and not trust him too far, as
I have done."
" He addresses her publicly," said he,
" and it was rumored they were to be
married before he sailed for Eustatia,
whither his company is ordered."
" Belcour," said Charlotte, seizing
his hand, and gazing at him earnestly,
while her pale lips trembled with con-
vulsive agony. " Oh, tell me, and tell
me truly, I beseech you, do you think
he can be such a villian as to marry an-
other woman, and leave me to die with
want and misery in a strange land ?
Tell me what you think; I can bear it
very well; I will not shrink from this
heaviest stroke of fate; I have deserved
my afflictions, and I will endeavor to
bear them as I ought."
" I fear," said Belcour, " he can be
" Perhaps," cried she, eagerly, inter-
rupting him, " perhaps he is married al-
ready; come, let me know the worst,"
continued she, with an affected look of
composure; "you need not be afraid; I
shall not send the fortunate lady a bowl
of poison ! 99
" Well, then, my dear girl/' said he,
deceived by her appearance, " they were
married on Thursday, and yesterday
morning they sailed for Eustatia."
" Married — gone — say you ? " cried
she, in distracted accents; "what, with-
out a farewell, without one thought on
my unhappy situation \ Oh, Montra-
ville ! may God forgive your perfidy ! "
She shrieked, and Belcour sprang
forward just in time to prevent her fall-
ing to the floor.
Alarming faintings now succeeded
each other and she was conveyed to her
bed, from whence she earnestly prayed
she might never more arise.
Belcour stayed with her that night,
and in the morning found her in a high
The fits she had been seized with
Charlotte Temple. 207
greatly terrified him; and confined as
she was now to a bed of sickness, she
was no longer an object of desire; it is
true, for several days he went constantly
to see her, but her pale, emaciated ap-
pearance disgusted him; his visits be-
came less frequent; he forgot the solemn
charge given him by Montraville; he
even forgot the money entrusted to his
care; and the burning blush of indigna-
tion and shame tinges my cheek while
I write it, this disgrace to humanity
and manhood at length forgot even the
injured Charlotte; and, attracted by the
blooming health of a farmer's daughter,
whom he had seen in his frequent ex-
cursions to the country, he left the un-
happy girl to sink unnoticed to the
grave, a prey to sickness, grief and
penury, while he, having triumphed
over the virtue of the artless cottager,
rioted in all the intemperance of luxury
and lawless pleasure.
" Bless my heart ! " cries my young,
volatile reader, " I shall never have pa-
tience to get through this volume, there
are so many ahs and ohs ! so much faint-
ing, tears and distress. I am sick to
death of the subject."
My dear, cheerful, innocent girl (for
innocent I will suppose you to be, or
you would acutely feel the woes of Char-
lotte), did conscience say, thus might it
have been with me, had not Providence
interposed to snatch me from destruc-
tion ? Therefore, my lively, innocent
girl, I must request your patience. I
am writing a tale of truth; I mean to
write it to the heart. But, if perchance
the heart is rendered impenetrable by
unbounded prosperity, or a continuance
in vice, I expect not my tale to please,
nay, I even expect it will be thrown bv
Charlotte Temple. 209
with disgust. But softly, gentle fair
one, I pray you throw it not aside till
you have perused the whole. You may
find something therein to repay you for
the trouble. Methinks I see a sarcastic
smile sit on your countenance.
" And what/' cry you, " does the con-
ceited author suppose we can glean from
the pages, if Charlotte is held up as an
object of terror, to prevent us from fall-
ing into guilty errors ? Does not La
Rue triumph in her shame ? and, by
adding art to guilt, obtain the affection
of a worthy man and rise to a station
where she is held with respect, and
cheerfully received into all companies ?
What, then, is the moral you would in-
culcate 1 Would you wish us to think
that a deviation from virtue, if covered
by art and hypocrisy, is not an object of
detestation, but on the contrary, shall
raise us to fame and honor, while the
hapless girl who falls a victim to her too
210 Charlotte Temple.
great sensibility, shall be loaded with
ignominy and shame ? "
]STo, my fair querist, I mean no such
Remember the endeavors of the
wicked are often suffered to prosper,
that in the end their fall may be at-
tended with more bitterness of heart,
while the cup of affliction is poured out
for wise and salutary ends, and they
who are compelled to drain it even to the
bitter dregs, often find comfort at the
bottom ; the tear of penitence blots their
offence from the book of fate, and they
rise from the heavy, painful trial, puri-
fied and fit for a mansion in the king-
dom of eternity.
Yes, my young friends, the tear of
compassion shall fall for the fate of
Charlotte, while the name of La Rue
shall be detested and despised. For
Charlotte the soul melts with sympathy;
for La Rue it feels nothing but horror
Charlotte Temple. 211
But perhaps your gay hearts would
rather follow the fortunate Mrs. Cray-
ton through the scenes of pleasure and
dissipation in which she was engaged
than listen to the complaints and mis-
eries of Charlotte. I will for once oblige
you, I will for once follow her to mid-
night revels, balls and scenes of gayety,
for in such she was constantly engaged.
I have said her person was lovely ; let
us add that she was surrounded by splen-
dor and affluence, and he must know but
little of the world who can wonder (how-
ever faulty such a woman's conduct) at
her being followed by the men and her
company courted by the women. In
short, Mrs. Crayton was the universal
favorite; she set the fashions; she was
toasted by the gentlemen, and copied by
Colonel Crayton was a domestic man
— could he be happy with such a
woman ? Impossible. Remonstrance
was vain. He might as well have
preached to the wind as endeavor to
persuade her from any action, however
ridiculous, on which she had set her
mind; in short, after a little ineffectual
struggle, he gave up the attempt and
left her to follow the bent of her own
What those were, I think the reader
must have seen enough of her character
to form a just idea.
Among the number who paid their
devotions at her shrine, she singled out
one, a young ensign of mean birth, in-
different education, and w T eak intellect.
How such a man came into the army
we hardly can account for; and how he
afterwards rose to posts of honor is like-
wise strange and wonderful.
But fortune is blind, and so are those,
too, frequently, who have the power of
dispensing her favors; else why do we
see fools and knaves at the very top of
Charlotte Temple. 213
the wheel, while patient merit sinks to
the extreme of the opposite abyss ? But
we may form a thousand conjectures on
this subject, and yet never hit the right.
Let us, therefore, endeavor to deserve
her smiles, and whether we succeed or
not, we shall feel more innate satisfac-
tion than thousands of those who bask
in the sunshine of her favor unworthily.
But to return to Mrs. Crayton. This
young man, whom I shall distinguish by
the name of Corydon, was the reigning
favorite of her heart. He escorted her
to the play, danced with her at every
ball, and, when indisposition prevented
her going out, it was he alone who was
permitted to cheer the gloomy solitude
to which she was obliged to confine her-
Did she ever think of poor Charlotte 'I
If she did, my clear miss, it was only to
laugh at the poor girl's want of spirit in
consenting to be moped up in the conn-
214 Charlotte Temple.
try, while Montraville was enjoying all
the pleasures of a gay, dissipated city.
When she heard of his marriage, she
smilingly said : " So there's an end of
Madame Charlotte's hopes. I wonder
who will take her now, or what will be-
come of the little affected prude ? "
But, as you have led to the subject, I
think we may as well return to the dis-
tressed Charlotte, and not, like the un-
feeling Mrs. Crayton, shut our hearts to
the call of humanity.
WE GO FORWARD AGAIN.
The strength of Charlotte's constitu-
tion combated against her disorder, and
she began slowly to recover, though she
still labored under a violent depression
Charlotte Temple. 215
of spirits. How must that depression be
decreased, when examining her little
store, she found herself reduced to one
solitary guinea, and that during her ill-
ness the attendance of an apothecary and
nurse, together wkh many other un-
avoidable expenses, had involved her in
debt, from which she saw no method of
As to the faint hope which she had
entertained of hearing from and being
relieved by her parents, it now entirely
forsook her, for it was about four months
since her letter was dispatched, and she
had received no answer; she, therefore,
imagined her conduct had either entirely
alienated their affection from her, or
broken their hearts, and she must never
more hope to receive their blessings.
Never did any human being wish for
death with greater fervency or juster
cause, yet she had too just a sense of the
duties, of the Christian religion to at-
216 Charlotte Temple.
tempt to put a period to her own exist-
" I have but to be patient a little
longer," she would cry, and nature, fa-
tigued and fainting, will throw off this
heavy load of mortality, and I shall be
relieved from all my sufferings."
It was one cold, stormy day in the lat-
ter end of December, as Charlotte sat by
a handful of fire, the low state of her
finances not allowing her to replenish
her stock of fuel, and prudence teach-
ing her to be careful of what she had,
when she was surprised by the entrance
of a farmer's wife, who, without much
ceremony, seated herself and began this
curious harangue :
" I'm come to see if as how you can
pay your rent, because as how we hear
Captain Montable is gone away, and it's
fifty to one if he b'ant killed afore he
comes back again, and then, miss or
ma'am, or whatever you may be, as I
Charlotte Temple. 217
was saying to my husband, where are we
to look for our money ? "
This was a stroke altogether unex-
pected by Charlotte.
She knew so little of the world that
she had never bestowed a thought on
the payment of the rent of the house;
she knew, indeed, that she owed a good
deal, but this was never reckoned among
the others; she was thunderstruck; she
hardly knew what answer to make, yet
it was absolutely necessary she should
say something, and judging of the gen-
tleness of every female disposition by
her own, she thought the best way to in-
terest the woman in her favor would be
to tell her candidly to what a situation
she was reduced, and how little proba-
bility there was of her ever paying any-
Alas ! poor Charlotte; how confined
was her knowledge of human nature, or
she would have been convinced that the
218 Charlotte Temple.
only way to endure the friendship and
assistance of your surrounding acquaint-
ance, is to convince them that you do
not require, for when once the petrify-
ing aspect of distress and penury appear,
whose qualities, like Medusa's head, can
change to stone all that look upon it;
when once the Gorgon claims acquaint-
ance with us, the phantom of friendship,
that before courted our notice, will van-
ish into unsubstantial air, and the whole
world before us appear a barren waste.
Pardon me, ye dear spirits of benevo-
lence, whose benign smile and cheerful-
giving hands have strewed sweet flowers
on many a thorny path through which
my wayward fate forced me to pass;
think not, that in condemning the un-
feeling texture of the human heart, I
forget the spring from whence flow all
the comforts I enjoy; oh, no !
I look up to you as the bright constel-
lations, gathering new splendors from
Charlotte Temple. 219
the surrounding darkness; but, ah !
while I adore the benignant rays that
cheered and illumined my heart, I
mourn that their influence cannot ex-
tend to all the sons and daughters of
" Indeed, madam," said poor Char-
lotte, in a tremulous accent, kk I am at a
loss what to do. Montraville placed me
here and promised to defray my ex-
penses; but he has forgotten his prom-
ise; he has forsaken me, and I have no
friend who either has power or will to
relieve me. Let me hope, as you see my
unhappy situation, your charity "
" Charity ! " cried the woman, im-
patiently interrupting her. " Charity,
indeed; why, mistress, charity begins at
home, and I have seven children at
home — honest, lawful children; and it
is my duty to keep them; and do you
think I shall give away my property to
a nasty, impudent hussy, to maintain
220 Charlotte Temple.
her and her bastard ? As I was saying
to my husband the other day, what will
this world come to ? Honest women
are nothing nowadays, while the harlot-
ings are set up for fine ladies, and look
on us no more nor the dirt they walk
upon ; but let me tell you, my fine
spoken ma'am, I must have my money;
so seeing as how you can't pay it, why,
you must troop, and leave all your gim-
cracks and fal-de-rals behind you. I
don't ask for more than my right, and
nobody shall go for to hinder me from
" Oh, Heaven ! " cried Charlotte,
clasping her hands, " what will become
of me ? "
" Come on ye ! " retorted the unfeel-
ing wretch. " Why, go to the barrack^
and work for a morsel of bread; wash
and mend the soldiers' clothes, and cook
their victuals, and not expect to live in
idleness on honest peoples' means. Oh,
1 wish I could see the day when all such
cattle were obliged to work hard and eat
little; it's only what they deserve."
" Father of mercy ! " cried Charlotte,
" I acknowledge Thy correction just, but
prepare me, I beseech Thee, for the por-
tion of misery Thou may'st please to lay.
" Well," said the woman, " I shall go
and tell my husband as how you can't
pay; and so, d'ye see, ma'am, get ready
to be packing away this very night, for,
you would not stay another night in this
house, though I were sure you would lay
in the street."
Charlotte bowed her head in silence,
but the anguish of her heart was too
great to permit her to articulate a single
And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep —
A shade that follows wealth and fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep!
When Charlotte was left to herself,
she began to think what course she must
take, or to whom she should apply, to
prevent her perishing from want, or
perhaps that very night falling a victim
to the inclemency of the season.
After many perplexed thoughts she
at last determined to set out for Xew
York and inquire out Mrs. Crayton,
from whom she had no doubt but she
should receive immediate relief as soon
as her distress was made known. She
had no sooner formed this resolution
than she resolved immediately to put it
into execution; she therefore wrote the
following little billet to Mrs. Crayton,
thinking if she should have company
Charlotte Temple. 223
with her, it would be better to send in
the request to see her.
" To Mrs. Craytox :
" Madam : — When we left our na-
tive land, that dear happy land which
contains all that is dear to the wretched
Charlotte, our prospects were the same;
we both, pardon me, madam, if I say,
we both too easily followed the impulses
of our treacherous hearts, and trusted
our happiness on a tempestuous ocean,
where mine has been wrecked and lost
forever; you have been more fortunate
— you are united to a man of honor and
humanity, united by the most sacred
ties, respected, esteemed, admired, and
surrounded by innumerable blessings of
which I am bereaved — enjoying those
pleasures which have fled my bosom,
never to return, alas! sorrow and deep
regret have taken their place.
" Behold me, madam, a poor, forsaken
wanderer, who has not where to lay her
weary head, wherewith to supply the
wants of nature, or to shield her from in-
clemency of the weather.
" To you I sue, to you I look for pity
and relief. I ask not to be received as
an intimate or equal; only for charity's
sweet sake, receive me into your hos-
pitable mansion, allot me the meanest
apartment in it, and let me breathe out
my soul in prayers for your happiness;
I cannot, I feel I cannot bear up under
the accumulated woes that bear in upon
me; but oh, my dear madam, for the
love of Heaven, suffer me not to expire
in the street; and when I am at peace,
as soon I shall be, extend your compas-
sion to my poor, helpless offspring,
should it please Heaven that it survive
its unhappy mother.
"A gleam of joy breaks in on my be-
nighted soul, while I reflect that you can-
not, will not, refuse your protection to
the heart-broken Charlotte."
Charlotte Temple. 225
When Charlotte had finished this let-
ter, late as it was in the afternoon, and
though the snow began to fall very fast,
she tied up a few necessaries, which she
had prepared against her expected con-
finement, and terrified lest she should be
again exposed to the insults of her bar-
barous landlady, more dreadful to her
wounded spirit than either storm or
darkness, she set forward for New York.
It may be asked by those who, in a
work of this kind, love to cavil at every
trifling omission, whether Charlotte did
not possess any valuable of which she
could have disposed, and by that means
have supported herself till Mrs. Beau-
champ's return, when she would have
been certain of receiving every tender
attention which compassion and friend-
ship could dictate; but let me entreat
these wise, penetrating gentleman to re-
flect, that when Charlotte left England,
it was in such haste that there was no
time to purchase anything more than
what was wanted for immediate use upon
the voyage; and after the arrivel at New
York, Montraville's affection soon be-
gan to decline, so that her wardrobe con-
sisted only of necessaries; and as to the
baubles, with which fond lovers often
load their mistresses, she possessed not
one, except a plain gold locket of small
value, which contained a lock of her
mother's hair, and which the great ex-
tremity of want could not have forced
her to part with.
The distance from the house which
our suffering heroine occupied, to New
York, was not very great; yet the snow
fell so fast, and the cold was so intense,
that, being unable from her situation to
walk quick, she found herself almost
sinking with cold and fatigue before she
reached the town; her garments, which
were merely suitable to the summer sea-
son, being an undress robe of plain white
Charlotte Temple. 227
muslin, were wet through; and a thin,
black coat and bonnet, very improper
habiliments for such a climate, but
poorly defended her from the cold.
In this situation she reached the city,
and inquired of a foot-soldier whom she
met, the way to Colonel Crayton's.
" Bless you, my sweet lady/' said the
soldier, with a voice and look of compas-
sion, " I will show you the way with all
my heart; but if you are going to make
a petition to Madame Crayton, it is all to
no purpose, I assure you; if you please,
I will conduct you to Mr. Franklin's,
though Miss Julia is married and gone,
yet the old gentleman is very good."
"Julia Franklin," said Charlotte;
" is she not married to Montraville ? "
" Yes," replied the soldier, " and may
God bless them, for a better officer never
lived, he is so good to us all; and as to
Miss J ulia, all the poor folks almost wor-
228 Charlotte Temple.
" Gracious Heavens ! " cried Char-
lotte, " is Montraville unjust to none but
The soldier now showed her Colonel
Crayton's door, and with a beating heart
she knocked for admission.
"When the door was opened, Char-
lotte, in a voice rendered scarcely artic-
ulate, through cold and the extreme agi-
tation of her mind, demanded whether
Mrs. Crayton was at home.
The servant hesitated; he knew that
his lady was engaged at a game of pic-
quet with her dear Coryclon, nor could
he think she would like to be disturbed
by a person whose appearance spoke of
Charlotte Temple. 229
so little consequence as Charlotte; yet
there was something in her countenance
that rather interested him in her favor,
and he said his lady was engaged; but if
she had any particular message he would
" Take up this letter/' said Charlotte,
" tell her the unhappy writer of it waits
in the hall for an answer."
The tremulous accent, the tearful eye,
must have moved any heart not com-
posed of adamant.
The man took the letter from the poor
suppliant, and hastily ascended the stair-
"A letter, madam," said he, presenting
it to his lady ; " an immediate answer is
" Mrs. Crayton glanced her eyes care-
lessly over the contents. " What stuff
is this ? " cried she, haughtily; " have I
not told you a thousand times that I
would not be plagued with beggars or
230 Charlotte Temple.
petitions from people one knows nothing
about? Go tell the woman I can't do
anything in it. I'm sorry, but one can't
The servant bowed, and heavily re^
turned with this chilling message to
"Surely," said she, "Mrs. Crayton
has not read my letter. Go, my friend,
pray, go back to her; tell her it is Char-
lotte Temple who requests beneath her
hospitable roof to find shelter from the
inclemency of the season."
" Prithee, don't plague me, man,"
cried Mrs. Crayton, impatiently, as the
servant advanced something in behalf of
the unhappy girl. " I tell you I don't
" Not know me ! " cried Charlotte,
rushing into the room (for she had fol-
lowed the man up-stairs), " not know me
— not remember the injured Charlotte
Temple, who, but for you, perhaps
Charlotte Temple. 231
might still have been innocent, still have
been happy! Oh, La Kue, this is be-
yond everything I conld have believed
"Upon. my honor, miss," replied the
unfeeling woman with the utmost
effrontery, " this is a most unaccountable
address — it is beyond my comprehen-
sion. John," continued she, turning to
the servant, " the young woman is cer-
tainly out of her senses ; do pray take her
away, she terrifies me to death."
" Oh, God ! " cried Charlotte, clasp-
ing her hands in an agony, " this is too
much ; what will become of me ! But I
will not leave you, they shall not tear
me from you; here on my knees I con-
jure you to save me from perishing in
the street; if you really have forgotten
me, O, for charity's sweet sake, this
night let me be sheltered from the win-
ter's piercing cold."
The kneeling figure of Charlotte, in
her affecting situation, might have
moved the heart of a stone to compas-
sion; but Mrs. Cray ton remained in-
In vain did Charlotte recount the time
they had known each other at Chiches-
ter; in vain mention their being in the
same ship; in vain were the names of
Montraville and Belcour mentioned.
Mrs. Crayton could only say she was
sorry for her imprudence, but could not
think of having her own reputation en-
dangered by encouraging a woman of
that kind in her own house; besides, she
did not know what trouble and expense
she might bring upon her husband. by
giving shelter to a woman in her situa-
" I can at least die here," said Char-
lotte. " I feel I cannot long survive
this dreadful conflict. Father of mercy!
here let me finish my existence."
Her agonizing sensations overpowered
her ? and she fell senseless on the floor.
Charlotte Temple. 233
" Take her away/' said Mrs. Crayton;
" she will really frighten me into hys-
terics; take her away, I say, this in-
"And where must I take the poor
creature ? " said the servant, with a voice
and look of compassion.
"Anywhere," cried she, hastily, " only
don't let me ever see her again. I de-
clare she has flurried me so, I sha'n't be
myself again this fortnight."
John 5 assisted by his fellow-servant,
raised and carried her down-stairs.
" Poor soul," said he, " you shall not
lie in the street this night. I have a bed
and a poor little hovel, where my wife
and little ones rest them; but they shall
watch to-night and you shall be shel-
tered from danger."
They placed her in a chair, and the
benevolent man, assisted by one of his
comrades, carried her to the place where
his wife and children lived.
234 Charlotte Temple.
A surgeon was sent for; he bled her;
she gave signs of returning life, and be-
fore dawn she gave birth to a female in-
After this event, she lay for some
hours in a kind of stupor: and, if at any
time she spoke, it was with a quickness
and incoherence that plainly evinced the
deprivation of reason.
REASONS WHY AND WHEREFORE.
The reader of sensibility may perhaps
be astonished to find Mrs. Crayton could
so positively deny any knowledge of
Charlotte; it is, therefore, but just that
her conduct should in some measure be
She had ever been fully sensible of the
Charlotte Temple. 235
superiority of Charlotte's sense and vir-
tue; she was conscious that she never
would have swerved her rectitude had it
not been for her bad precepts and worse
example. These were things as yet un-
'known to her husband: and she wished
not to have that part of her conduct ex-
posed to him, as she had great reason to
fear she had already lost considerable
part of that power she once maintained
She trembled while Charlotte was in
the house, lest the colonel should return;
she perfectly well remembered how
much he seemed interested in her favor,
while on their passage from England,
and made no doubt but, should he see
her in her present distress, he would of-
fer her an asylum, and protect her to the
utmost of his power.
In that case, she feared the unguard-
ed nature of Charlotte might discover to
the colonel the part she had taken in the
236 Charlotte Temple.
unhappy girl's elopement, and she well
knew the contrast between her own and
Charlotte's conduct, would make the
former appear in no very respectable
Had she reflected properly, she would
have afforded the poor girl protection,
and, by enjoining her silence, insured
it by acts of repeated kindness, but vice
in general blinds its votaries, and they
discover their real characters to the world
when they are the most studious to pre-
Just so it happened with Mrs. Cray-
ton; her servants made no scruple of
mentioning the cruel conduct of their
lady to a poor distressed lunatic who
claimed her protection; everyone joined
in reprobating her inhumanity, nay,
even Cory don thought she might at least
have ordered her to be taken care of, but
he dared not even hint it to her, for he
lived but in her smiles, and drew from
her lavish fondness large sums to sup-
port an extravagance to which the state
of his own finances were very inade-
quate. It cannot therefore be supposed
that he wished Mrs. Crayton to be very
liberal in her bounty to the afflicted
suppliant. Yet vice had not so entirely
seared over his heart but the sorrows of
Charlotte could find a vulnerable part.
Charlotte had now been three days
with her humane preservers, but she was
totally insensible of everything; she
raved incessantly for Montraville and
her father; she was not conscious of be-
ing a mother, nor took the least notice
of her child, except to ask whose it was,
and why it was not carried to its par-
" Oh ! " said she one day, starting up
on hearing the infant cry, " why will
you keep that child here? I am sure
you w T ould not if you knew how hard it
was for a mother to be parted from her
238 Charlotte Temple.
infant; it is like tearing the cords of life
" Oh ! could you see the horrid sight
I now behold — there — there stands my
dear mother, her poor bosom bleeding at
every vein ; her gentle, affectionate heart
torn in a thousand pieces, and all for the
loss of a ruined, ungrateful child.
" Save me — save me — from her
frown! I dare not — indeed I dare not
speak to her ! "
Such were the dreadful images that
haunted her distracted mind, and nature
was sinking fast under the dreadful mal-
ady which medicine had no power to re-
The surgeon who attended her' was a
humane man, who exerted his utmost
abilities to save her; but he saw she was
in want of many necessaries and com-
forts which the poverty of her hospitable
hosts rendered them unable to provide:
he therefore determined to make her sit-
Charlotte Temple. 239
uation known to some of the officers,
ladies, and endeavor to make a collection
for her relief.
When he returned home after making
this resolution, he found a message from
Mrs. Beauchamp, who had just arrived
from Rhode Island, requesting he would
call and see one of her children, who was
" I do not know," said he, as he was
hastening to obey the summons, " I do
not know a woman to whom I could ap-
ply with more hope of success than Mrs.
Beauchamp. I will endeavor to inter-
est her in this poor girl's behalf; she
wants the soothing balm of friendly con-
solation; we may perhaps save her; we
will try, at least."
"And where is she? " cried Mrs. Beau-
champ, when he prescribed something
for the child, and told his little pathetic
tale, " where is she, sir? we will go to her
immediately. Heaven forbid that I
240 Charlotte Temple.
should be deaf to the calls of humanity.
Come, we will go this instant/'
Then seizing the doctor's arm, they
sought the habitation of the dying Char-
WHICH PEOPLE VOID OF FEELING NEED
When Mrs. Beauchamp entered the
apartment of the poor sufferer, she
started back in horror. On a wretched
bed, without hangings and poorly sup-
plied with covering, lay the emaciated
figure of what still retained the sem-
blance of a lovely woman, though sick-
ness had so altered her features that Mrs.
Beauchamp had not the least recollection
of her person.
Charlotte Temple. 241
In a corner of a room stood a woman
washing, and shivering over a small fire,
two healthy, but half-naked children.
The infant was asleep beside its mother,
and on a chair by the bedside stood a
porringer and wooden spoon containing
a little gruel, and a tea-cup with about
two spoonsful of wine in it.
Mrs. Beauchamp had never before be-
held such a scene of poverty; she shud-
dered involuntarily, and exclaiming,
" Heaven preserve us ! " leaned on the
back of the chair, ready to sink to the
The doctor repented having so pre-
cipitately brought her into his affecting
scene; but there was no time for apol-
Charlotte caught the sound of her
voice, and starting almost out of bed, ex-
"Angel of peace and mercy, art thou
come to deliver me? Oh, I know you
are, for whenever you were near me I
felt eased of half my sorrows; but you
don't know me, nor can I, with all the
recollection that I am mistress of, remem-
ber your name just now ; but I know that
benevolent countenance and the soft-
ness of that voice, which has so often
comforted the wretched Charlotte."
Mrs. Beauchamp had, during the time
Charlotte was speaking, seated herself on
the bed; and taking one of her hands,
she looked at her attentively, and at the
name of Charlotte she perfectly con-
ceived the whole affair. A faint sick-
ness came over her.
" Gracious Heaven ! " said she, " is
this possible ? " and bursting into tears,
she reclined the burning head of Char-
lotte on her own bosom, and folding her
arms about her, wept over her in silence.
" Oh," said Charlotte, " you are very
good to weep thus for me; it is a long
time since I shed a tear for myself; my
Charlotte Temple. 243
head and heart are both on fire; but these
tears of yours seem to cool and refresh
" Oh, now I remember you said you
would send a letter to my poor father;
do you think he ever received it ? or per-
haps you may have brought me an an-
swer; why don't you speak, madam ? "
" Does he say I may go home? Well,
he is very good; I shall soon be ready."
She then made an effort to get out of
bed; but being prevented, her frenzy
again returned, and she raved with the
greatest wildness and incoherence.
Mrs. Beauchamp, finding it was im-
possible for her to be removed, contented
herself with ordering the apartment to
be made more comfortable, and procur-
ing a proper nurse for both mother and
child; and having learned the particu-
lars of Charlotte's fruitless application
to Mrs. Crayton from honest John, she
amply rewarded him for his benevolence,
244 Charlotte Temple.
and returned home with a heart op-
pressed with many painful sensations,
but yet rendered easy by the reflection
that she had performed her duty towards
a distressed fellow-creature.
Early next morning she again visited
Charlotte, and found her tolerably com-
posed; she called her by name, thanked
her for her goodness, and when her child
was brought to her, pressed it in her
arms, wept over it, and called it the off-
spring of disobedience.
Mrs. Beauchamp was delighted to see
her so much amended, and began to hope
she might recover, and in spite of her
former errors, become a useful and re-
spectable member of society; but the ar-
rival of the doctor put an end to these
delusive hopes; he said nature was mak-
ing her last effort, and a few hours would
most probably consign the unhappy girl
to her kindred dust.
Being asked how she found herself,
" Why, better, much better, doctor. X
hope now I have but little more to suffer.
I had last night a few hours' sleep,
and when I awoke recovered the whole
power of recollection. I am quite sen-
sible of my weakness; I feel I have but
little longer to combat with the shafts of
affliction. I have an humble confidence
in the mercy of Him who died to save
the world, and trust that my sufferings
in this state of mortality, joined to my
unfeigned repentance, through His
mercy, have blotted my offences from
the sight of my offended Maker. I have
but one care — my poor infant! Father
of mercy ! " continued she, raising her
eyes, " of thy infinite goodness, grant
that the sins of the parent be not visited
on the unoffending child. May those
who taught me to despise Thy laws be
forgiven; lay not my offences to their
charge I beseech Thee; and oh! shower
the choicest of Thy blessings on those
.whose pity has soothed the afflicted
heart, and made easy even the bed of
pain and sickness."
She was exhausted by this fervent ad-
dress to the throne of mercy, and though
her lips still moved, her voice became
inarticulate; she lay for some time, as it
were, in a doze, and then recovering,
faintly pressed Mrs. Beauchamp's hand,
and then requested that a clergyman
might be sent for.
On his arrival, she joined fervently in
the pious office, frequently mentioning
her ingratitude to her parents as what
lay most heavy at her heart.
When she had performed the last
solemn duty, and was preparing to lie
down, a little bustle outside the door oc-
casioned Mrs. Beauchamp to open it and
inquire the cause.
A man, in appearance about forty,
presented himself, and asked for Mrs.
Charlotte Temple. 247
" That is my name, sir/' said she.
" Oh, then, my dear madam," cried
he, " tell me where I may find my poor,
ruined, but repentant child."
Mrs. Beauchamp was surprised and
much affected; she knew not what to
say; she foresaw the agony this interview
would occasion Mr. Temple, who had
just arrived in search of Charlotte, and
yet was sensible that the pardon and
blessing of the father would soften even
the agonies of death to the daughter.
" Tell me, madam," cried he, wildly,
"tell me, I beseech thee, does she live?
Shall I see my darling once again? Per-
haps she is in this house. Lead — lead
me to her, that I may bless her, and then
lie down and die."
The ardent manner in which he ut-
tered these words occasioned him to raiso
It caught the ear of Charlotte; she
248 Charlotte Temple.
knew the beloved sound, and uttering a
loud shriek, she sprang forward as Mr.
Temple entered the room.
" My adored father ! "
« My long lost child ! "
Mature could support no more, and
they both sank lifeless into the arms of
Charlotte was again put into bed, and
a few moments restored Mr. Temple ; but
to describe the agonies of his sufferings
is past the power of any one. Though
we can readily conceive, we cannot de-
lineate the dreadful scene.
Every eye gave testimony of what
each other felt — but all were silent.
When Charlotte recovered, she found
herself supported in her father's arms.
She cast upon him a most impressive
look, but was unable to speak.
A reviving cordial was administered.
She then asked in a low voice for her
Charlotte Temple. 249
It was brought to her; she put it in
her father's arms.
"Protect her," said she, "and bless
your dying "
Unable to finish the sentence, she sunk
back on her pillow; her countenance was
serenely composed; she regarded her
father as he pressed the infant to his
breast, with a steadfast look; a sudden
beam of joy passed across her languid
features: she raised her eyes to heaven —
and then closed them forever.
In the meantime, Montraville had re-
ceived orders to return to Xew York, ar-
rived, and having some feeling of com-
passionate tenderness for the woman
250 Charlotte Temple.
whom he regarded as brought to shame
by himself he went in search of Belcour,
to inquire whether she was safe, and
whether the child lived.
He found him immersed in dissipa-
tion, and could gain no other intelli-
gence than that Charlotte had left him,
and that he knew not what had become
" I cannot believe it possible/' said
Montraville, " that a mind once so pure
as Charlotte Temple's should .so sudden-
ly become the mansion of vice. Be-
ware, Belcour," continued he, " beware
if you have dared to behave either un-
justly or dishonorably to that poor girl,
your life shall pay the forfeit; I will
avenge her cause."
He immediately went into the coun-
try, to the house where he had left Char-
lotte. It was desolate.
After much inquiry he at length
found the servant girl who had lived
Charlotte Temple. 251
From her he learned the misery Char-
lotte had endured from the complicated
evils of illness, poverty, and a broken
heart, and that she had set out for "New
York on a cold winter's evening; but she
could inform him no further.
Tortured almost to madness by this
shocking account, he returned to the
city, but before he reached it, the even-
ing was drawing to a close.
In entering the town, he was obliged
to pass several little huts, the residences
of poor women, who supported them-
selves by washing the clothes of the
officers and soldiers.
It was nearly dark; he heard from a
neighboring steeple a solemn toll that
seemed to say, some poor mortal was go-
ing to their last mansion; the sound
struck on the heart of Montraville, and
he involuntarily stopped, when from one
of the houses he saw the appearance of a
252 Charlotte Temple.
Almost unknowing what he did, he
followed at a small distance; and as they
let the coffin into the grave, he inquired
of a soldier, who stood by, and had just
wiped off a tear that did honor to his
heart, who it was that was just buried.
"An' please your honor," said the
man, " 'tis a poor girl that was brought
from her friends by a cruel man, who
left her when she was big with a child 7
and married another."
Montraville stood motionless, and the
" I met her myself, not a fortnight
since, one night, all cold and wet in the
street; she went to Madam Crayton's,
but she would not take her in and so the
poor thing went raving mad."
Montraville could bear no more; he
struck his hands against his forehead
with violence, and exclaiming, " poor
murdered Charlotte ! " ran with pre-
cipitation towards the place where they
were heaping the earth on her remains.
"Hold — hold! one moment/' said he,
" close not the grave of the injured Char-
lotte Temple, till I have taken ven-
geance on her murderer."
" Rash young man," said Mr. Temple,
" who art thou that thus disturbest the
last mournful rites of the dead, and
rudely breakest in upon the grief of an
afflicted father ? "
" If thou art the father of Charlotte
Temple," said he, gazing at him with
mingled horror and amazement — " if
thou art her father — I am Montraville."
Then, falling on his knees, he con-
tinued: "Here is my bosom. I bare it
to receive the stroke I merit. Strike —
strike now, and save me from the misery
"Alas !•" said Mr. Temple, "if thou
wert the seducer of my child, thy own
reflections be thy punishment. I wrest
not the power from the hand of Om-
nipotence. Look on that little heap of
254 Charlotte Temple.
earth; there hast thou buried the only
joy of a fond father. Look at it often;
and may thy heart feel such sorrow as
shall merit the mercy of Heaven. "
He turned from him, and Montra-
ville, starting up from the ground where
he had thrown himself, and that instant
remembering the perfidy of Belcour,
flew like lightning to his lodgings. Bel-
cour was intoxicated; Montraville im-
petuous; they fought, and the sword of
the latter entered the heart of his ad-
He fell, and expired almost instantly.
Montraville had received a slight wound,
and, overcome with the agitation of his
mind, and loss of blood, was carried in a
state of insensibility to his distracted
A dangerous illness and obstinate de-
lirium ensued, during which he raved
incessantly for Charlotte, but a strong
constitution, and the tender assiduities
of Julia, in time overcame the disorder.
He recovered, but to the end of his
life was subject to severe fits of melan-
choly, and while he remained in Xew
York, frequently retired to the church-
yard, where he wept over the grave, and
regretted the untimely fate of the lovely
Shortly after the interment of his
daughter, Mr. Temple, with his dear lit-
tle charge and her nurse, set forward for
It would be impossible to do justice to
the meeting-scene between him and his
Lucy, and her aged father. Every
256 Charlotte Temple.
heart of sensibility can easily conceive
After the first tumult of grief was
subsided, Mrs. Temple gave up the chief
of her time to her grandchild, and as she
grew up and improved, began almost to
fancy she again possessed her Charlotte.
It was about ten years after these
painful events, that Mr. and Mrs. Tem-
ple, having buried their father, were
obliged to come to London on particular
business, and brought the little Lucy
They had been walking one evening,
when, on their return they found a poor
wretch sitting on the steps of the door.
She attempted to rise as they ap-
proached, but from extreme weakness
was unable, and after several fruitless
efforts, fell back in a fit.
Mr. Temple was not one of those men
who stand to consider whether by assist-
ing an object of distress they shall not
inconvenience themselves, but, instigated
by a noble, feeling heart, immediately
ordered her to be carried into the house
and proper restoratives applied.
She soon recovered, and fixing her eye
on Mrs. Temple, cried:
" You know not, madam, what you
do; you know not whom you are reliev-
ing, or you would curse me in the bitter-
ness of your heart. Come not near me,
madam, I shall contaminate you. I am
the viper that stung your peace. I am
the woman who turned the poor Char-
lotte out to perish in the street. Heaven
have mercy! I see her now,' continued
she, looking at Lucy ; " such — such was
the fair bud of innocence that my vile
arts blasted ere it was half blown."
It was in vain that Mr. and Mrs. Tem-
ple entreated her to be composed and
take some refreshment.
She only drank half a glass of wine,
and then told them she had been sepa-
rated from her husband seven years, the
chief of which she passed in riot, dissi-
pation and vice, till, overtaken by pov-
erty and sickness, she had been reduced
to part with every valuable, and thought
only of ending her life in prison, when
a benevolent friend paid her debts and
released her; but that, her illness in-
creasing, she had no possible means of
supporting herself, and her friends were
weary of relieving her. " I have fasted, "
said she, " two days, and last night laid
my aching head on the cold pavement;
indeed, indeed, it was but just that I
should experience those miseries myself,
which I unfeelingly inflicted on others."
Greatly as Mr. Temple had reason to
detest Mrs. Crayton, he could not be-
hold her in this distress without some
emotions of pity.
He gave her shelter that night be-
neath his hospitable roof, and the next
day got her admission into a hospital,
where, having lingered a few weeks, she
died, a striking example that vice, how-
ever prosperous in the beginning, in the
end leads on to misery and shame.
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1. THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT.
2. THE MAN WHO WAS.
3. WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY.
4. RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY.
5. ON GREENHOW HILL.
6. WEE WILLIE WINKIE.
7. THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING.
8. MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY.
9. THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD.
10. THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MUL-
11. HIS MAJESTY THE KING.
12. WITH THE MAIN GUARD.
13. THE THREE MUSKETEERS.
15. CUPID'S ARROWS.
16. IN THE HOUSE OF SUDDHOO.
17. THE BRONCKHORST DIVORCE-CASE.
18. THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA.
20. AT T WENT Y-T W T .
21. ON THE CITY WALL.
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1. JESOP'S FABLES. 62 illustrations.
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1. ABBE CONSTANTIN.— Halevy.
2. ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE.— Mulock.
3. ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND.—
4. AMERICAN NOTES.-Kipling.
5. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF BENJAMIN FRANK-
6. AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE.—
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18. BLITHEDALE ROMANCE, THE.— Hawthorne.
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20. BRYANT'S POEMS.
26. CAMILLE— Dumas, Jr.
27. CARMEN.— Merimee.
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33. CHRISTIE'S OLD ORGAN.— Walton.
34. CHRISTMAS CAROL, A.— Dickens.
35. CONFESSIONS OF AN OPIUM EATER.— De
36. CRANFORD.— Gaskell.
37. CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.— Dickens.
38. CROWN OF WILD OLIVE, THE.— Ruskin.
43. DAY BREAKETH, THE.— Shugert.
44. DAYS WITH SIR ROGER DE COVERLY.-^
45. DISCOURSES, EPICTETUS.
46. DOG OF FLANDERS, A.— Ouida.
47. DREAM LIFE.— Mitchell.
51. EMERSON'S ESSAYS, FIRST SERIES.
52. EMERSON'S ESSAYS, SECOND SERIES.
53. ENDYMION— Keats.
54. ESSAYS OF ELIA.-Lamb.
55. ETHICS OF THE DUST.— Ruskin.
56. EVANGELINE.— Longfellow.
61. FAIRY LAND OF SCIENCE.-Buckley.
62. FANCHON.— Sand.
63. FOR DAILY BREAD.— Sienkiewicz.
67. GRAMMAR OF PALMISTRY.— St. Hill.
68. GREEK HEROES.— Kingsley.
69. GULLIVER'S TRAVEL'S.— Swift.
74. HANIA.— Sienkiewicz.
75. HAUNTED MAN, THE.— Dickens.
76. HEROES AND HERO WORSHIP.— Carlyle.
77. HIAWATHA, THE SONG OF.— Longfellow.
78. HOLME'S POEMS.
79. HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES.— Hawthorne.
80. HOUSE OF THE WOLF.— Weyman.
81. HYPERION.— Longfellow.
87. IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW.—*
88. IDYLLS OF THE KING.— Tennyson.
89. IMPREGNABLE ROCK OF HOLY SCRIPT-
HENRY ALTEMUS' PUBLICATIONS.
Vadeinecuni Series— Continued.
90. IN BLACK AND WHITE.— Kipling.
91. IN MEMORIAM.— Tennvson.
96. JESSICA'S FIRST PRAYER.— Stretton.
97. J. COLE.— Gellibrand.
101. KAVANAGH.— Longfellow.
102. KIDNAPPED.— Stevenson.
103. KNICKERBOCKER'S HISTORY OF NEW
197. LA BELLE NIVERNAISE.— Daudet.
108. LADDIE AND MISS TOOSEY'S MISSION.
109. LADY OF THE LAKE.— Scott.
110. LALLA ROOKH.— Moore.
111. LAST ESSAYS OF ELIA.— Lamb.
112. LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME, THE. — Macaulay.
113. LET US FOLLOW HIM.— Sienkiewicz.
114. LIGHT OF ASIA.— Arnold.
115. LIGHT THAT FAILED, THE.— Kipling.
116. LITTLE LAME PRINCE.— Mulock.
117. LONGFELLOW'S POEMS, VOL. I.
118. LONGFELLOW'S POEMS, VOL. II.
119. LOWELL'S POEMS.
126. MAGIC NUTS, THE.— Molesworth.
127. MANON LESCAUT.— Prevost.
128. MARMION.— Scott.
129. MASTER OF BALLANTRAE, THE.— Stevenson
130. MILTON'S POEMS.
131. MINE OWN PEOPLE.— Kipling.
132. MINISTER OF THE WORLD.— Mason.
133. MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE.— Hawthorne
134. MULVANEY STORIES.— Kipling.
140. NATURAL LAW IN THE SPIRITUAL
141. NATURE, ADDRESSES, AND LECTURES.—
145. OLD CHRISTMAS.— Irving.
146. OUTRE-MER.— Longfellow.
150. PARADISE LOST.— Milton.
151. PARADISE REGAINED.— Milton.
152. PAUL AND VIRGINIA.— Sainte Pierre.
153. PETER SCHLEMIHL.— Chamisso.
154. PHANTOM RICKSHAW.— Kipling.
155. PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, THE.— Bunyan.
HENRY ALTEMUS' PUBLICATIONS.
Vademecum Series— Continued.
156. PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS— Kipling.
157. PLEASURES OF LIFE.— Lubbock.
158. PLUTARCH'S LIVES.
159. POE'S POEMS.
160. PRINCE OF THE HOUSE OF DAVID.— Ingra-
161. PRINCESS AND MAUD. — Tennyson.
162. PRUE AND I.-Curtis.
169. QUEEN OF THE AIR.— Ruskin.
172. RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. — Brown.
173. REPRESENTATIVE MEN.— Emerson.
174. REVERIES OF A BACHELOR.— Mitchell.
175. RIP VAN WINKLE.— Irving.
176. ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG MAN.—
177. RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM.—
182. SAMANTHA AT SARATOGA. -Holley.
183. SARTOR RESARTUS.— Carlyle.
184. SCARLET LETTER, THE.— Hawthorne.
185. SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.— Sheridan.
186. SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY, A.— Sterne.
187. SESAME ANL LILIES.— Ruskin.
188. SHAKSPEARE'S HEROINES.— Jameson.
189. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.— Goldsmith.
190. SILAS MARNER.— Eliot.
191. SKETCH BOOK, THE.— Irving.
192. SNOW IMAGE, THE.— Hawthorne.
199. TALES FROM SHAKSPE ARE. —Lamb.
200. TANGLEWOOD TALES.— Hawthorne.
201. TARTARIN OF TARASCON.— Daudet.
202. TARTARIN ON THE ALPS.— Daudet.
203. TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM.— Arthur.
204. THINGS WILL TAKE A TURN.-Harraden.
205. THOUGHTS.— MARCUS AURELIUS.
206. THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS.— Carroll.
207. TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. -Hughes.
208. TREASURE ISLAND.— Stevenson.
209. TWICE TOLD TALES.— Hawthorne.
210. TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST.— Dana.
217. UNCLE TOM'S CABIN.— Stowe.
218. UNDINE.— Fouque.
i22. VIC; THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A FOX-
HENRY ALTEMUS' PUBLICATIONS.
Vademecum Series— Continued.
223. VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.— Goldsmith.
226. WALDEN.— Thoreau.
227. WATER BABIES. — Kingsley.
228. WEIRD TALES.— Poe.
229. WHAT IS ART?— Tolstoi.
230. WHITTIER'S POEMS, VOL. I.
231. WHITTIER'S POEMS, VOL. II.
232. WINDOW IN THRUMS.— Barrie.
233. WOMAN'S WORK IN THE HOME.— Farrar.
234. WONDER BOOK, A. — Hawthorne.
241. YELLOWPLUSH PAPERS, THE.-Thackeray
244. ZOE.— By author of " Laddie," etc.
ALTEMUS' ILLUSTRATED DEVOTIONAL
Full White Vellum, handsome new mosaic design in
gold and colors, gold edges, Boxed, 50 cents.
1. ABIDE IN CHRIST.— Murray.
2. AT THE BEAUTIFUL GATE.
3. BEECHER'S ADDRESSES.
4. BEST THOUGHTS.— From Henry Drummond*
5. BIBLE BIRTHDAY" BOOK.
6. BROOKS' ADDRESSES.
7. CHAMBER OF PEACE.
8. CHANGED CROSS, THE.
9. CHRISTIAN LIFE.— Oxenden.
10. CHRISTIAN LIVING.— Meyer.
11. CHRISTIAN'S SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE.
12. CHRISTIE'S OLD ORGAN.— Walton.
13. COMING TO OHRIST.— Havergal.
14. DAILY FOOD FOR CHRISTIANS.
15. DAY 7 BREAKETH, THE.— Shugert.
16. DAYS OF GRACE.— Murray.
17. DRUMMOND'S ADDRESSES.
18. EVENING THOUGHTS.— Havergal.
19. GOLD DUST.
20. HOLY IN CHRIST.— Murray.
21. IMITATION OF CHRIST, THE.— A'Kempis.
22. IMPREGNABLE ROCK OF HOLY SCRIPTURE.
HENRY ALTEMUS' PUBLICATIONS.
Devotional Series— Continued.
23. JESSICA'S FIRST PRAYER.— Stretton.
24. JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S PICTURES.— Spurgeon.
25. JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S TALK.— Spurgeon.
26. KEPT FOR THE MASTER'S USE.— Havergal.
27. KEBLE'S CHRISTIAN YEAR.
28. LET US FOLLOW HIM.— Sienkiewicz.
29. LIKE CHRIST.— Murray.
30. LINE UPON LINE.
31. MANLINESS OF CHRIST, THE.— Hughes.
32. MESSAGE OF PEACE, THE.— Church.
33. MORNING THOUGHTS.— Havergal.
34. MY KING AND HIS SERVICE.— Havergal.
35. NATURAL LAW IN THE SPIRITUAL
WORLD. — Drummond.
36. PALACE OF THE KING.
37. PATHWAY OF PROMISE.
38. PATHWAY OF SAFETY.-Oxenden.
39. PEEP OF DAY.
40. PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, THE.— Bunyan.
41. PRECEPT UPON PRECEPT.
42. PRINCE OF THE HOUSE OF DAVID— Ingram
43. SHADOW OF THE ROCK.
44. SHEPHERD PSALM.— Mever.
45. STEPS INTO THE BLESSED LIFE.— Meyer.
46. STEPPING HEAVENWARD. — Prentiss.
47. THE THRONE OF GRACE.
48. UNTO THE DESIRED HAVEN.
49. UPLANDS OF GOD.
50. WITH CHRIST.-Murray.
ALTEMUS' EDITION SHAKSPEARE PLAYS.
HANDY VOLUME SIZE.
Limp cloth binding, gold top, illuminated title and
frontispiece, 35 cents.
1. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
2. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
3. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
4. AS YOU LIKE IT.
5. COMEDY OF ERRORS.
9. JULPUS CAESAR.
10. KING HENRY IV. (Part I).
11. KING HENRY IV. (Part II).
12. KING HENRY V.
13. KING HENRY VI. (Part I).
14. KING HENRY VI. (Part II).
15. KING HENRY VI. (Part III).
16. KING HENRY VIII.
17. KING JOHN.
18. KING LEAR.
19. KING RICHARD II.
20. KING RICHARD III.
21. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
23*. MEASURE' FOR MEASURE.
24. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
27. ROMEO AND JULIET.
28. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
29. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
30. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
31. THE TEMPEST.
32. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
33. THE WINTER'S TALE.
34. TIMON QF ATHENS.
35. TITUS ANDRONICUS.
36. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
37. TWELFTH NIGHT.
38. VENUS AND ADONIS AND LUCRECE.
39. SONNETS, PASSIONATE PILGRIM, ETC.
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